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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 




Part I., November, 1903, to April, 1904. 



Copyright, 1904, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 




Six Months — November, 1903, to April, 1904. 



About Old Ink-stands. (Illustrated by Samuel S. Green) Tudor Jenks 532 

Adventures of a City Bear, The. (Illustrated by the Author) John R. Bacon 542 

Adventures of a Tin Soldier. (Illustrated by the Author and Emil Pollak). . Charles Raymond Macauley . 155 

After You Were Asleep. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Clara Marie Piatt 348 

Alligator Hunting. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall, I. W. Taber, E. W. \ p , „ ,-., , . ,- 

Kemble, and Peter Newell) ) 

Amnes AND his Cat. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McD. Walcott) Margaret Johnson 248 

Animal-ship, The. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) P. W. Humphreys 304 

Archie's Comment. Picture, drawn by G. A. Harker. 397 

Author of " Robinson Crusoe," The. (Illustrated) ' . .W. B. Northrop 495 

Baby's Adventurous Day — and Mine! The. (Illustrated by George Varian) . Cyrus Townsend Brady . . . 150 

Baby's Cap, The. (Illustrated from photographs of paintings) N. Hudson Moore 291 

Bachelor's Doll, The. (Illustrated by C M. Relyea) Temple Bailey 104 

Bachelor Tea, A. Verse. (Illustrated from a photograph) Lilian Palmer Powers 51 

Bad Temper of the Princess, The. (Illustrated by Margaret Ely Webb) . Ma rian Burton 217 

Before and After. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) /. W. Taber 422 

Billy's Mama's Christmas Present. (Illustrated by Irving Wiles) Anne Warner 226 

Bird Friendships. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall) Dallas Lore Sharp 37 

Birds' Breakfast-table, The. (Illustrated by J. O. Nugent and G. A. Harker). Isabel Gordon Curtis. ...... 358 

Birds' Concert, The. Verse W. C. M'Clelland 39 

" Blacksmith Nation," The. (Illustrated from photographs and by draw- \ u/- <z if • 1 ?8 

ings by E. Blumenschein and Robert Blum) ) 

Canadian Sports. (" Our Northern Neighbor's Winter Sports ") Katharine Louise Smith .... 356 

Cannibal Islands, A Tale of the. (Illustrated by George Varian) Herbert Baird Stimson 424 

Captain Johnny's Voyage. Verse. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) John Ernest McCann 310 

Caught in the Act. Picture, drawn by Victor Perard . . 550 

Change of Route, A. Verse. (Illustrated by A. Burton) Hanna Dawe Lloyd 135 

Chased by Wolves. (Illustrated by W. Benda) J. H. Rockwell 212 

Chinese Army that Cheered for Yale, A. (Illustrated by C M. Relyea), Ralph D. Paine 130 

Christmas Evening Party in Ye Olden Time. Picture, drawn by C D. Hubbard 109 

Colorado Glacier, A Visit to a. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill and from \ p jj jr n c. 

photographs) ' 

Comedy in Wax, A. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) B. L. Farjeon 3 

I39> 241, 3 28 > 4io, 5°6 

Coming FROM THE Fair. Verse. (Illustrated by Margaret Ely Webb) Laura E. Richards 136 

Count Geoffrey's Crest. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Caroline K. Herrick 257 

» Cunning Mouse, The. Verse. (Illustrated from photographs) Llector Rosen/eld 31 

j„ Cutting a Hemisphere in Two. (Illustrated from photographs) George Ethelbert Walsh .... 398 

^ Daubigny : How He Decorated his Daughter's Room. (Illustrated by ) Va[eria Inez Merrill 394 

• Florence E. Jones) -. ' 

- Day after Christmas, The. Picture, drawn by G. A. Harker 236 

Day with Hadrian, A. (Illustrated by George Varian and from photographs) .Edwin L. Arnold 16 



December. Verse. (Illustrated by M. E. Leonard) Carolyn Wells 167 

Diamond Cross, The King's. Verse. (Illustrated) Mrs. Frank Lee 321 

Fairy Flyaway, Little. Verse. (Illustrated by Margaret Ely Webb). . . .Hannah G. Fernald 254 

Foolish Fido. Verse. (Illustrated by W. A. McCullough) Annie Willis McCullough. . 446 

Four Little Girls and their Four Little Stories. (Illustrated by ) r . ,,.„ 

_ t Joaaum Aliller 1:20 

I. Davis and J. R. Bacon) ) 1 D 

Frog, The Story of that Little James Clarence Harvey. ... 50 

Future Wives. Verse. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Margaret Sheppard 490 

General's Easter Box, The. (Illustrated by George Varian) Temple Bailey 483 

Gentle Giant, The. Verse. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Henry Jolmstone 392 

Giraffe Family, The. Picture, drawn by E. Warde Blaisdell 22 

Glove, The Story of the. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Mary Dawson 312 

Gnome Matter. Jingle. (Illustrated by Maurice Clifford) Carolyn Wells 489 

Gnome Verses. (Illustrated by Maurice Clifford) Carolyn Wells 489 

Good Advertisement, A. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcohn Douglas 518 

Goosey Gander, The. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch). Isabel Francis Bellows ... . 235 

Grizzly Bear, The. (Illustrated by the Author) J. M. Gleeson 408 

Guessing Songs Henry Johnstone 

" I 'm Older than the Oldest Man " 44 

" Up Out of the Hill I Make my Way " 340 

Hadrian, A Day with. (Illustrated by George Varian and from photographs) .Edwin L. Arnold 16 

Happy Days. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by the Author) Sarah S. Stilwell no 

Hosea Jose and his Hose. Verse Arthur J. Burdick 15 

How Dicky Learned his Alphabet. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) .James C. Beard 341 

How Proby Saved the Woods. (Illustrated from photographs) Helen Grey 450 

How the Professor Recovered his Hat. Pictures, drawn by Penrhyn Stanlaws 347 

How We Bought Louisiana. (Map) Helen Lockwood Coffin 225 

Ink-stands, About Old. (Illustrated by Samuel S. Green) Tudor Jenks 532 

Interrupted Auction, An. Verse. (Illustrated by O. W. Beck) Carolyn Wells 99 

Iron, The Story of a Bar of. (Illustrated) W.S. Harwood 428 

Jack an' Me. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Albert Bigeloiv Paine 262 

Jack Longshort. (Illustrated by C. R. Macauley) George Hitntington 323 

Japanese Athletics for American Boys. (Illustrated from photographs).//. Irving Hancock 237, 350 

Japanese " Middy," A. (Illustrated) Teiichi Yamagata 514 

Jehee, Three Little Stories of F. M. Jessup 447 

Jingles 15, 30, 138, 235, 237, 253, 261, 310, 311, 421. 424, 427, 444, 445. 449- 489- 49«, 542 

Johnny Lamelegs. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by G. R. Halm) John Ernest McGinn 421 

Judge and the Cur, The. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Temple Bailey 296 

King in Disguise, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox . 453 

King's Diamond Cross, The. Verse. (Illustrated) Mrs. Frank Lee 321 

KNITTING Lesson, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) Mary J. Jacques 23 

Late Unpleasantness, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Charlotte Sedgwick 66 

Laughing Philosopher, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox . 543 

Lazy Coomarasawmy. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan). George Sylva 403 

Lion's Dream, The. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 327 

Little Boy, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Alice Gertrude Field 228 

Little Frog, The Story of that James Clarence Harvey .... 50 

Little Gnome, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Harrison Cady 424 

Little Man's Gift, A. Verse. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Malcolm Douglas 253 

Louisiana, How We Bought. (Map) Helen Lockwood Coffin . . . 225 

Mail-carriers, Some Queer. (Illustrated by W.IJ.Aylward and Alfred Brennan )t7^;y<? Ethelbert Walsh .... 45 

Master Springsteel. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) John R. Bacon 138 

Merchant of the Pavement, A. Picture, drawn by Jay Hambidge 335 

Misunderstanding, A. Verse Eunice Ward 396 

Modest Request, A. Picture, drawn by Peter Newell ' 247 

Money Value OF Training, The. (Illustrated by a diagram) James M. Dodge 57 

NONSENSE Calendar. Verse. (Illustrated by M. E. Leonard) Carolyn Wells 71, 167 

Northern Neighbor's Winter Sports, Our. (Illustrated by Henry ) . . 

_,,,,,.,» ( Katharine Louise Smith. . . . 3S6 

Sandham and from a photograph) ' JJ 



November. Verse. (Illustrated by M. E. Leonard) Carolyn Wells 71 

Officer of the Court, An. (Illustrated by VV. L. Jacobs and Charlotte \ E m ott j?i ower I9 5 

Harding) ' 

Old Winter and the Mermaid. Picture, drawn by Ryan Walker 44 

One Hug is Enough. Verse. (Illustrated by George Varian) Walter J. Kenyon 519 

Ornithological Observation, An. Verse Henry Johnstone 30 

O Santa San. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Aldis Dunbar 216 

O-U-G-H. Verse A. Fitch, Jr 263 

Our Johnny. Verse Nixon Waterman 397 

Panama Canal. (See " Cutting a Hemisphere in Two ") -. 398 

Pictures 22, 44, 109, 236, 247, 327, 335, 347, 396, 397, 446, 447, 488, 494, 505, 518, 550, 551 

Pointed Valentine, A. (Illustrated by Mary Sigsbee Ker) Virginia King Frye 300 

Poison Bubble, The. (Illustrated by Willard Bont£) Bennet Musson 40 

President Washington's Turkey Dinner. (Illustrated by I. W. Tuber). Anna Porter Rex 132 

Professor and his Hat, The. Pictures, drawn by Penrhyn Stanlaws 347 

Proving a Statement. Verse Arthur J. Burdick 237 

Pussy Cafe, At the Sign of the. Picture 488 

Rainy April Afternoon in the Nursery, A. Picture, drawn by G. A. Harker 494 

Remember — the Little Member. Verse Henry Johnstone 223 

" Richard, my King." (Illustrated by Bernard Rosenmeyer) Livingston B. Morse 52 

Road to Fairyland, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Ernest Thompson Seton .... 103 

Road to Grumbletown, The. Verse Ellen Manly 49 

Robinson Crusoe's Island. (Illustrated from photographs) Francis Arnold Collins . . . 499 

" Robinson Crusoe," The Author of. (Illustrated) W. B. Northrop 495 

St. Saturday. Verse. (Illustrated by Willard Bonte) Henry Johnstone 128 

Signs of Old London, The. (Illustrated by Otto H. Bacher and from \ T ,. „. „ , , _, , 

' v ' > Julian King Colford . . . . 160, 203 

photographs) > 

Simple Science for Simple Simons. (Illustrated) Boris Glave 344 

Snowball War, The. Picture, drawn by George Varian 447 

Snowflake, The.« Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Christine S. Bredin 427 

Snow Houses of the Seal and of the Bear. (Illustrated by the Author) .James C. Beard 210 

Some Queer Mail-carriers. (Illustrated by W. J. Aylward and Alfred X q , p t j ,1 t W I J 

Brennan) > 

Spelling Class, The. Picture, drawn by Fanny Y. Cory . 446 

Spring. Verse Carolyn S. Bailey 550 

Squg, The. Verse *. Willis B. Hawkins 406 

Story of the Glove, The. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Mary Dawson 312 

Strikes. Verse Edwin L. Sabin 311 

Surprise, A. Verse. (Illustrated by E. Warde Blaisdell) Malcolm Douglas 311 

Ted's Contract. (Illustrated by C. D. Williams) Henry Gardner Hunting . . . 24 

Three Caskets, The. (Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish and W. Benda) George M. R. Twose 116 

Tin Soldier, Adventures of a. (Illustrated by the Author and Emil 

Pollak) Charles Raymond Macauley . 155 

Tit for Tat. Verse. (Illustrated by W. A. McCullough) Annie Willis McCullough. . 261 

Two Lads of Old Kentucky. (Illustrated by George Varian) Virginia Yeaman Remnitz. . 387 

Two Little New York Maids. (Illustrated by Harper Pennington) Albert Bigelow Paine 33 

Unconsidered Trifle, An. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) S. Conant Foster 444 

Ups and Downs. Verse Edwin L. Sabin 253 

Wanted. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Margaret Vandegrift 525 

Washington, Another Anecdote of General. (Illustrated by Malcolm ) „ /r ,, ,._.,. , ,. „...,. 

„ ' v ' > Martha Little field Phillips . . 710 

Fraser) S r J y 

Washington's Reverence. (Illustrated) L. R. McCabe 318 

Washington's Turkey Dinner. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) Anna Porter Rex 132 

Weighing, The. Verse. (Illustrated from a photograph) Julia Darrow Ccnules 449 

What Befell Prince Snapsandsnails. (Illustrated by W. L. Brennan, Al- 

bertine Randall Wheelan, and others) Elsie Scott 537 

When the Wind Blows. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by G. R. Halm) .John Ernest McCann 445 

Windy March to School, A. Picture, drawn by Anna B. Craig 396 

Windy Morning, A. Picture 50^ 



Winter Sports, Our Northern Neighbor's. (Illustrated by Henry ) „ . . , „ ., , 

Sandham and from a photograph) J 

Wireless Telegraphy, A Word about Lieut. John M. Ellicott ... 254 

Wise Gnome, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Maurice Clifford) Carolyn Wells 489 

Woodland Echoes. Pictures, drawn by E. Warde Blaisdell 551 

Work of Art, A. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Anne McQueen 491 

World's Umbrella, The. Verse. (Illustrated by August Will) CD. Stone 444 


"A Running Wall of Linked Shields," by George Varian, page 2 — "The Bachelor Introduced Her to the Doll," 
by C. M. Relyea, page 98 — " Raising my Gun, I Sent Shot after Shot into the Howling, Surging Pack," by W. 
Benda, page 194 — " A Dutch Baby and its Nurse," from a portrait by Franz Hals, page 290 — " Miss Baillie," 
from a pastel by J. Wells Champney, after Gainsborough, page 386 — " Dorothy," after a painting by Lydia Field 
Emmett, page 482. 



St. Nicholas League. (Illustrated) 80, 176, 272, 368, 464, 560 

Nature and Science. (Illustrated) 72, 168, 264, 360, 456, 552 

Books and Reading. (Illustrated) 92, 188, 284, 380, 476, 572 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 94, 190, 286, 382, 478, 574 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 95, 191, 287, 383, 479, 575 


("A Day With Hadrian," page 21.) 


Vol. XXXI. 

NOVEMBER, 1903. 

No. 1. 

Chapter I. 


"What is the matter with you, little girl? 
You seem to be in trouble." 

Lucy looked up. The voice was kind, and 
she felt the need of sympathy just then, being 
very lonely and not at all happy in her mind. 
She was standing between Groups 1 and 2 in 
the center of the Grand Saloon, and no one 
was near her except the lovely Mme. Sainte 
Amaranthe (who lay fast asleep on her crim- 
son couch) and a few other figures, among 
whom was a Little Old Woman in Black in 
the act of taking a pinch of snuff from a silver 
snuff-box. But they were all waxwork people, 
and it would have been too great a stretch of 
imagination to suppose that any one of them 
could have addressed her in a human voice. 

It was rather late in the afternoon. The 

first part of the concert was over, and there 
was an interval of an hour and a half before 
the second part commenced. The Rumanian 
Orchestra had played Waldteufel's " Waltz of 
the Sirens," and had gone to tea; so had nearly 
all the visitors. Little Lucy Scarlett was alone 
in the midst of these waxwork celebrities, some 
affable, some stern, some simpering, some ex- 
ceedingly stately and dignified, and all staring 
straight before them, without so much as wink- 
ing an eyelid. 

" Of course nobody spoke," said Lucy to 
herself. " I wonder what made me think so." 

To her astonishment she was answered : 
" Because you heard me, my dear. I asked 
what was the matter with you." 

It was the Little Old Woman in Black who 
addressed the little girl. She wore a black silk 
dress, and a black silk cape, and a black bon- 
net with white frillings inside. Her hair and 

Copyright, 1903, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 



eyes were brown, and she had a pair of steel 
spectacles on her nose. Lucy stared at her in 
amazement, but somehow she did not feel afraid, 
there was such a benevolent expression on the 
old lady's face. 

" You are surprised to hear me speak," ob- 
served the figure. 

"Yes, I am," Lucy answered frankly. 

" It must seem singular, I own," said the 
figure, "but you need not be frightened. I 
am not at all an ill-natured person." 

" I am sure you are not," replied Lucy, 
"your face is so kind. Are you a 'celebrated 
person ' ? " 

"I should not be here. if I were not. We 
don't put nobodies in this exhibition — I should 
think not, indeed! Everybody here is some- 
body — I take good care of that. You have a 
catalogue, I see. I am Madame Tussaud.* 
Read what they say about me." 

Lucy turned over the pages, and read aloud : 

" ' Mme. Tussaud, the foundress of the ex- 
hibition, was born in Berne, Switzerland, in 
1760. Being left an orphan — ' Oh, dear!" 
she cried, interrupting herself, " I never heard 
of such a thing. Born in 1760! Why, you 
must be — " 

" A hundred and forty-three years old," said 
the old lady, complacently, " and I am proud 
of it." 

" But I thought you were wax, ma'am." 

" I dare say. Every one who comes here 
thinks so. Every one is mistaken. Sometimes, 
though, people coming up to me give a start, 
and think I am real, and then, after a little 
while, laugh and say, ' Upon my word, I 
thought she was alive!' It is a great compli- 
ment, for it shows what a good imitation 
I am." 

"Can you walk about if you wish?" asked 
Lucy, softly. 

" Certainly I can," replied Mine. Tussaud, 
"and I would do so now to prove it to you, 
only I don't want to attract attention ; it would 
set everything in commotion. At the present 
moment we have this part of the show to our- 

selves ; but if I shifted my position, or moved 
my head, or stroked your cheek, — which I 
should like to do, my dear, — the attendants 
would come running up to see what was the 
matter. That is why I keep so still when there 
is any risk of being observed. Oh, yes, I can 
walk about, and, considering my age, I am 
very active." 

"How wonderful!" exclaimed Lucy. 

" But enough about that just now. It rea.lly 
distresses me to see young folk unhappy, and 
you seem to be so. Are you? " 

"Yes, ma'am," sighed Lucy, "very, very 
unhappy! " 

" You 're surely not disappointed in my show. 
I could hardly bear that." 

" Oh, no ; it is a beautiful show. I 've never 
seen anything half so beautiful." 

" If you searched the whole world through," 
said Mme. Tussaud, proudly, " you would 
not find a better. All the people who come 
here are happy ; I should be vexed if they were 
not. Shall it be said that I am a failure? Have 
I not done my best to make them happy? " 

" I am sure you have," said Lucy, quickly, 
for Mme. Tussaud seemed rather hurt. 

" Well, then, you must be happy. I insist 
upon it." 

" I wish I could be," said Lucy, her lips 
quivering, "but I can't." 

"Tell me why; I may be able to help you. 
Do they treat you badly at home? Do you 
have enough to eat? Does Miss Pennyback 
slap you? " 

" It is n't anything like that," said Lucy, 
with difficulty keeping back her tears. " It 's 
because of Lydia." 

" Oh — Lydia. Who is she? " 

" My sister, ma'am." 

"When I first noticed you, nearly two hours 
ago," said Mme. Tussaud, " you were not 
alone. There was a bright young fellow of 
about four-and-twenty with you." 

"That was Harry Bower, ma'am." 

" And there was another man, much older, 
with a mean, sharp nose and red hair." 

* Pronounced Tus-so'. Mme. Tussaud's Exhibition of Waxworks in Marylebone Road is one of the most 
popular shows in London, and for the last sixty or seventy years has been regarded as essentially a British 
institution. Throughout the whole of the year it attracts daily a large number of visitors, and at holiday-time it 
is thronged with children. 



"Yes, ma'am, the monster — Mr. Lorimer 

" And there was a pretty girl in a blue dress 
— a Bower on one side of her and a Grim- 
weed on the other. Was that Lydia ? " 

" Yes, ma'am," said Lucy, eagerly. " She 
is pretty, is n't she? " 

"Sweetly pretty, my dear, and I am very 
much mistaken if somebody else does n't think 
so, too. Nothing escapes my no- 
tice ; I am a very observant per- 
son. I see everything that goes 
on around me, and it struck me 
that Mr. Harry Bower looked far 
more often at Lydia than he did 
at my celebrities. Oh, I was n't 
offended— not at all! I heard 
something, too. Harry Bower 
looked at me and said, ' What a 
nice-looking little lady!' The 
Grimweed man looked and said, 
' /call her a regular fright! ' " 

" That 's just like the monster," 
said Lucy. "He 's always say- 
ing disagreeable things ; and oh, 
he does tell such stories ! " 

" Good little girl! Now, what 
is the matter with Lydia? " Lucy 
hesitated. " Come, come, child, 

"Can you keep a secret?" 
asked Lucy, softly. 

"Yes, indeed, I can. If peo- 
ple only knew the secrets I have 
kept these last hundred years! 
Volumes of them. Now let me 
hear yours." 

"Lydia is in love." The child's 
face was very solemn, and her 
voice very low, as she imparted 
this tremendous piece of information to the 
old lady. 

"Ha — hm! That is indeed extraordinary. 
So unusual, you know. How old is Lydia? " 

" Eighteen." 

"Ah!" said Mme. Tussaud, in a wistful 
tone. "/ was eighteen once, and / was in 
love. Is Harry Bower Lydia's sweetheart? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

"Is he unkind to her? " 

" Oh, no! He is the kindest young gentle- 
man you ever saw." 

" Then why don't they marry? They could 
come here often. They could n't visit a better 
place — so quiet and improving, with royalty 
looking on and never interfering. And a re- 
freshment-room downstairs where they could 
have ice-cream. And delightful music all day 
long, played by a famous band." 

" Papa will not let them," said 
Lucy, shaking her head sorrow- 
fully. " He says that Lydia shall 
marry Lorimer Grimweed, and 
she hates the sight of him — and 
so do I." 

" Grimweed is a most disagree- 
able name," said Mme. Tussaud, 
" and would not look bad on the 
bills. If you could get him to do 
some horrible deed, something to 
make the public's flesh creep, I 
would put him in my Chamber of 
Horrors, and there would be an 
end of him." Lucy shuddered. 
" But why does your papa wish 
Lydia to marry Grimweed instead 
of Harry Bower? " 

" He is richer than Harry ; be- 
sides Marybud Lodge, where we 
live, belongs to him. Our lease 
expires this year, and if Lydia 
does n't marry him he will rent 
the place to another family, and 
papa can't be happy anywhere 
else. Papa has lived there all 
his life, and is quite wretched at 
the thought of being turned away. 
He has spent ever so much money 
on the place, and it will all belong 
to the monster if Lydia does n't 
marry him. Just as if he did n't have money 
enough already! He is always talking of his 

" I see. But how does it happen that this 
Grimweed came with you to my show this 
afternoon? " 

" It 's rather mixed, ma'am," replied Lucy. 
" Some friends in Cavendish Square wanted 
me to spend a few days with them, — Marybud 
Lodge is in Barnet, you know, — and Lydia said 



she would bring me to London herself, and 
would take me to see your show first." 

" Sensible girl, that Lydia. The more I hear 
of her the better I like her. How does it hap- 
pen that Harry Bower came too? " 

" I 'm sure I don't know, ma'am," said Lucy. 

" Ah, I see. Go on, my dear." 

"Well, last night," continued Lucy, "Mr. 
Grimweed dropped in, and said he would come 
with us to-day, and escort Lydia home in the 
evening ; and papa accepted the offer at once, 
though Lydia tried hard to put him off. When 
the monster found Harry here he was dread- 
fully cross ; and he was crosser still when I 
asked him to take me to the Napoleon Room, 
so that Lydia and Harry could stay where 
they were." 

" You did n't tell him that, did you, child? " 

" Oh, no. He thought they were following 
us, and was so angry when he missed them that 
he chipped bits out of Napoleon's carriage, and 
said he would keep them as relics." 

" The wretch ought to be prosecuted! " cried 
Mme. Tussaud, fiercely. " My dear, I am 
greatly interested in what you have told me. 
I must punish that Grimweed man, and your 
papa must be brought to reason." 

Lucy shook her head mournfully. " He 
won't be, ma'am. He has made up his mind 
that Lydia shall marry the monster, and when 
papa makes up his mind to anything, nobody 
in the world can make him change it." 

"Oh, indeed!" said Mme. Tussaud, and it 
was evident that she was not only greatly in- 
terested, but very much nettled. " Nobody in 
the world! Upon my word! As if /could n't 
bring him to reason ! " 

" You could n't, ma'am — no ; you could n't! 
You don't know papa, ma'am. He will com- 
mand Lydia to marry the monster, and then she 
will die — and I shall die, too! " And with this, 
tears began to roll down the little girl's face. 

' Dry your eyes," said Mme. Tussaud, in 
rather a sharp tone, " or people will think you 
don't like my show. My mind is made up. 
I can be quite as determined as your papa— 
oh, yes, I can ! He shall be brought to reason, 
if you have the courage to do as I tell you." 

" I will do anything to make Lydia happy — 
anything in the world!" exclaimed Lucy. 

" Very well, child. What is your name ? " 

" Lucy, ma'am." 

" Nice name. How far is it to Marybud 
Lodge, Lucy? " 

" Nine or ten miles from here, I think." 

" H'm. It might be done," mused Mme. 

" They deserve an outing, and it would be 
such an advertisement for us! " continued Mme. 
Tussaud, as if talking to herself. " Such a won- 
derful advertisement! Why, we should be 
more popular than ever! But that is not the 
reason, child." She was now addressing Lucy, 
who was wondering what the old lady was talk- 
ing about. " It is because I am resolved that 
no one shall be miserable in my show, and no 
one shall go away miserable. My dear, I think 
there is one place in London where people 
may be sure of spending a happy day, and that 
is here. And you shall be happy, and Lydia 
shall be happy, and we will teach that Grim- 
weed man a lesson he will not forget. Hearts 
are not made to be broken — no, indeed ; I will 
not allow it." She paused to take breath, and 
then added doubtfully, " But, after all, Lucy, 
I am afraid you have n't the courage." 

" I have, ma'am, I have! " cried Lucy, who 
was now very much excited. " Try me — do! " 

"You would have to remain in the show till 
all the people have gone away. What do you 
say to that?" 

" I don't mind," said Lucy, bravely ; " I 
don't, indeed." 

"And nobody must see you. You must 

"Yes, ma'am. Where?" 

" That is an important point. We must 
decide quickly, because the visitors will soon 
be coming back. There 's the Royal Group 
on the left of me ; but you could scarcely 
escape observation there. If you were to creep 
under the throne you would certainly be seen. 
Dear, dear! where can you hide? Ah, I have 
it! Do you see that gentleman who stands in 
a thoughtful attitude, on a raised platform, 
nearly facing me on the right-hand side of the 
saloon? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" That is the glory of the world, Shakspere, 
in the costume of the period. At the back of 

i 9 o 3 . 


his platform is a vacant space rather close to 
the wall, but large enough for a little girl to 
hide in. Are you brave enough to creep in there 
and hide for three or four hours? " 

" I would hide there for weeks," said Lucy, 
trembling with eagerness, " to make Lydia 

" That would be too severe a task," said 
Mme. Tussaud, gaily. " But you can't remain 
there so long without something to eat. Have 
you any money? " 

" Yes ; a two-shilling piece. Lydia gave 
it to me." 

" Lydia is a darling. Before you hide, go 


down to the refreshment-room and buy some 
cakes; also buy some chocolate creams. My 
kings and queens are very fond of them. When 
they ruled the country, chocolate creams were 
not invented, and I have heard Henry VIII say 
that if our great confectioners had been alive in 
his time, he would have instituted an Order of 
the Chocolate Cream, and made one of them 
Grand Master. Sometimes a visitor leaves a 
little bag on one of the seats, and there is a 
regular scramble for it. On one occasion Ed- 
ward V and the Duke of York came to blows 
over it, and the duke, who said that Edward did 
not divide fairly, gave his brother a black eye." 

"Oh, dear!" gasped Lucy, whose own eyes 
opened very wide at what she heard. 

" Yes, and I was rather afraid it would spoil 
my tableau ; but fortunately the swelling soon 
went down. All the same I was much an- 
noyed, and the duke received a severe scolding 
from his papa, Edward IV. Oh, there have 
been strange doings in this place when the 
public were not looking on ! There was great 
excitement, not so very long ago, when William 
the Conqueror organized a night attack upon 
the refreshment-counter downstairs ; he enlisted 
several of the more unruly spirits to aid him in 
his New Conquest, as he called it, and it was 
as much as I could do to bring him 
to order. I don't know that I should 
have succeeded but for the assis- 
tance of Napoleon, Julius Caesar, 
and Oliver Cromwell, who agreed 
that William had committed a seri- 
ous breach of discipline. But, dear 
me! we are wandering from the 
point, and an awkward question has 
occurred to me. Your sister will be 
coming back to look for you pres- 
ently, and when she fails to find you 
she will be- much alarmed, and there 
will probably be a great to-do. Now 
that is just what I wish to avoid." 
" It will be all right, ma'am," said 
\$b Lucy. " Lydia told me that if we 
should happen to get parted to-day 
I was to take a cab from here and 
go straight to Cavendish Square. It 
pair is n't very far, and I have been there 

before, you know. When she misses 
me she will think I have done as she said, and 
she and Harry will go back to Barnet without 
feeling a bit anxious on my account." 

"Capital!" said Mme. Tussaud. "It is 
really as if things had been arranged for us. 
Your friends in Cavendish Square may wonder 
why you don't turn up, but when so much is 
at stake I don't think we need take them into 
consideration. Well, Lucy, what you have to 
do is to creep behind Shakspere's platform 
when nobody is looking, and remain there till 
ten o'clock. You will know when the show is 
over by the band playing ' God Save the King.' 
Then all the people will go away — to come 



again to-morrow, I hope. There will be a 
surprise for them if they do. Dear, dear, 
dear! What an excitement there will be in 
London! It will spread, and spread, and 
spread, and the people will flock, and flock, 
and flock! I feel as if I could jump when I 
think of it. It will be worth thousands and 
thousands of pounds to us." 

All this was as puzzling to Lucy as if the 
old lady were speaking in Greek, but, for fear 
that they might be interrupted, she did not stop 
to ask for an explanation. 

" Then," proceeded Mine. Tussaud, cooling 
down, " when the people are all gone, the at- 
tendants will shut up the show and turn out 
the lights. You must wait till they have fin- 
ished their work and everything is perfectly 
still, and then you will creep out of your hiding- 
place and come to me. Do you understand? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Be very careful to keep out of the way of 
Lydia and that Grimweed man. If they see 
you, all our plans will be spoiled. Now, are 
you sure you can do all this? " 

" Quite sure, ma'am." 

"Brave little Lucy!" said Mme. Tussaud. 
" Go and do it." 

Chapter II. 


As Lucy turned away her heart beat fast 
with a wonderful joy. After the first surprise 
of being spoken to by a wax lady, she saw 
nothing very startling in her adventure, strange 
as it was. For Lucy, you see, was of an ima- 
ginative nature, and, unlike many of our matter- 
of-fact boys and girls of to-day, did not turn up 
her nose at hobgoblins and nymphs and fays. 
She believed firmly in the dear old fairy tales 
and elves and ogres ; and all such dainty and 
fantastic creations were, to her, veritable beings 
of flesh and blood. 

On the way to the refreshment-room to pur- 
chase the chocolate creams, Lucy caught sight 
of Mr. Grimweed diligently searching for her ; 
and in another room she spied Lydia and Mr. 
Bower, who, like herself, were trying to " lose " 
Mr. Grimweed. As soon as the coast seemed 
to be clear she went forward to the refreshment- 

counter. With great care she made her pur- 
chases, spending sixpence for cakes and eigh- 
teenpence for chocolate creams. 

When she reached the Grand Saloon the 
band was playing, and most of the visitors were 
clustered round the orchestra ; only a few 
people were looking at the wax figures. Lucy 
lingered a moment or two beside Mme. Tus- 
saud, but the old lady made no sign, so she 
passed on to Shakspere's platform and, avail- 
ing herself of a good opportunity, slipped be- 
hind. No one had noticed her, and after a few 
moments of almost breathless suspense she made 
herself as snug as possible, and felt that she was 

She was not at all uncomfortable ; there was 
just sufficient space between the back of the 
platform and the wall for her to recline at her 
ease and listen to the music, the strains of 
which floated softly to her ears. There was 
another diversion in the scraps of conversation 
that reached her from the people passing to 
and fro, although, to be sure, they were rather 
confusing : 

" There is that dear Marie Antoinette, poor 
thing! Before she was married she " — 

" Screamed out, ' You wretch! you ought to 
be'" — 

" Mixed with the yolk of three new-laid eggs, 
well beaten up, and " — 

" Taken in at the waist, and let out two or 
three inches at the hem, until " — 

" I did n't know where I was; it was quite 
dark, and " — 

Lucy could not make sense of the chatter, 
and she gave up trying to ; but presently she 
distinguished voices which she knew. 

" Are you sure Lucy will be all right, Lydia? " 

" Quite sure ; she knows just what to do, and 
has often been to Cavendish Square before. 
You have no idea what a brave little thing she 
is; and so quick and clever! Was n't it good 
of her to go off with the monster as she did? " 

" I am afraid it must have spoiled all her 
pleasure, Lydia." 

" We '11 make it up to her some day, Harry, 
if we have the chance. Oh, dear, there 's Mr. 
Grimweed" in the next room, looking about for 
us! We seem to have been dodging him all 
the afternoon. Come away, quick, or he will 



see us. Besides, it 's getting late— and if you had been turned on, but as she had no watch 

like, sir, you may have the honor of taking me she did not know what time it was. Harry 

home." Bower had promised her the prettiest little 

" Darling Lydia!" thought Lucy, as the two gold watch in England on the day he and 

moved away. " It will be all right soon. Lydia were married, but the fulfilment of that 


Mme. Tussaud is going to manage everything, 
and you and Harry will be happy, and — and 
— oh, dear! I am so sleepy!" 

Her eyes closed, and she fell into a doze. 
When she awoke she wondered where she was, 
and it was some time before she could recollect 
what had occurred. 

During her nap the lights in the exhibition 

promise depended entirely upon the Little Old 
Woman in Black. 

Never in Lucy's young life had time passed 
so slowly. Mme. Tussaud had told her she 
would have to remain in hiding for three or 
four hours, but Lucy was ready to aver that 
she had been crouching behind the bard of 
Avon at least three times as long as that, and 




the people had not yet left the exhibition. She 
closed her eyes again, and began to count a 
thousand sheep going through a gate ; and fall- 
ing into another doze before she counted eighty, 
found herself in a large buttercup and daisy 
field filled with sheep who were dancing to a 
waltz by Strauss, which the band was softly 
playing. Some of the animals had gorgeous 
ball-dresses on, and others swallowtails and 
white ties. 

"May I have the pleasure?" said one of 
the sheep to Lucy, with a graceful bow. 

" Yes, you may," said Lucy. 

" Beautiful evening," said the sheep, putting 
on a pair of white kid gloves. 

" Yes, it is," said Lucy. " Do you like my 
white satin shoes? " 

" They are beautiful," said the sheep. " And 
silk stockings, I see." 

" I always wear silk at a sheep's party." 

" /always wear wool," said the sheep. " So 
much more fashionable! " 

"You don't know anything about it," said 
Lucy ; " and if you are going to dance you 'd 
better begin, or there will be none left." 

Round and round they went, and Lucy was 
not at all surprised when the sheep changed 
into Julius Caesar, who was clasping her waist 
and waltzing in what he called the Roman 
stvle. They got along very well together until 
Julius Caesar accused her of not keeping step, 
and when she retorted that it was he who was 
at fault, he called out in a threatening voice: 

" What, ho, my lictors! " 

Which so terrified her that she fell upon her 
knees and implored him to spare her life. 

" Who did n't keep step ? " he demanded 

" It was me," she answered. 

"What shocking grammar!" replied Julius 
Caesar. " I forgive your not keeping step, 
despite your manner of speech. Rise." 

But before Lucy could get up, Lorimer Grim- 
weed appeared with a huge battle-ax, and called 
out fiercely : 

" No! Let her stay where she is! Off with 
her head! Stand aside, Julius — I '11 do it! " 

And he would have done it, Lucy thought, 
if Harry Bower had not darted forward and 
seized him by the throat, shouting: " Caitiff! " 

At that critical moment Lucy woke up with 
pins and needles in her foot, and knew she 
had been dreaming. She had hardly got rid 
of the pins and needles when she heard a great 
scuffling, and the band playing " God Save the 
King." It was all over at last, and the people 
were going away. It was more than ever 
necessary now that she should be very careful, 
for everybody was flocking to the stairs near 
which she was hiding. What a hurry and 
confusion there was as they hastened away, 
and how their tongues ran! 

Gradually the hubbub grew faint and fainter, 
till it ceased entirely, 
and all the visitors 
were gone. Then 
Lucy heard the at- 
tendants moving 
about, calling to 
each other while 
they performed their 
last duties for the 
day, but what those 
duties were she could 
not see. She was 
afraid they were 
looking for her, and 
she made herself as 
small as possible. 
" What will they do . 
to me if they catch 
me? " she thought. 
" Will they lock me 
up, and will they call 
Mme. Tussaud as a 
witness ? Oh, I do 
hope they won't 
catch me!" She listened to the men talking 
and laughing and making remarks about the 
celebrities ; and now and then the swish of some 
soft material fell upon her ears. She could not 
understand what they meant when they said, 
" Now, then, stupid, do you want to smother 
me? A little more this way, Jack. Easy, there, 
easy! Take care of her head!" 

After a while these remarks came to an end. 
The lights were lowered, and the attendants 
bade each other good night. Then came the 
sound of the shutting and locking of doors and 
gates, after which there was a dead silence. 




I I 

The exhibition was closed for the night. 

How strange it seemed! Only a few mo- 
ments before, the bustle, the laughter, the eager 
voices — and now not an audible word, not a 

Lucy waited four or five minutes before she 
ventured to peep out. She saw nothing, heard 
nothing. After waiting another minute or two, 
she crept very, very slowly from her hiding- 
place ; and as she once more stood upright and 
looked around, she was startled at the transfor- 
mation that had taken place. 

Chapter III. 


Not a figure was to be seen. Every wax fig- 
ure had been put to bed standing, as it were, and 
was covered with a calico nightgown. Very 
ghostly was the appearance of the Grand 
Saloon in its canopy of dingy white. Brave as 
Lucy was, it would be nonsense to say she was 
not nervous. It was all so uncanny and hob- 
gobliny that she was almost afraid to move. 

Presently she remembered she was a little 
girl of courage, and stole softly along till she 
came to the center of the Grand Saloon, where 
she knew Mme. Tussaud was standing ; but 
how could she tell the Little Old Woman in 
Black from the rest of the draped figures? 
And if she did find her, would she dare take 
the covering off? 

The silence, the dim light, the dumb, shape- 
less forms, kept her heart in a flutter. Three 
or four times she had stopped in alarm, fancy- 
ing that one or other of the wax figures had 
beckoned beneath its shroud, and was about to 
advance toward her. Motionless as they all 
were, they seemed to be stealthily watching 
her, and demanding to know what business she 
had to be there at such an hour. 

Tremblingly the little girl peered this way 
and that, until she became quite bewildered, 
and began to fancy she had come to the wrong 

"Oh, dear!" she sobbed. "I wish it was 
lighter— or that the figures were n't covered— 
or something! I wish Lorimer Grimweed had 
never been born! I wish — " 

But her next wish was never uttered, for she 

was startled by an unmistakable movement in 
one of the figures. The calico wrapper trem- 
bled, fluttered, and fell to the ground, and to 
Lucy's great joy there stood Mme. Tussaud, 

" Why, there you are," said the old lady, in 
the kindest tone. " I was beginning to fear 
that something had happened to you, or that 
you had been frightened and had run away. I 
am glad you did n't. You look white, poor 

" I am all right now," said Lucy. " I did 
feel a little nervous as I came along." 

" I don't wonder at it," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" If you had been here as many years as I 
have been, you would have grown accustomed 
to this sort of thing." 

Her features were no longer fixed and mo- 
tionless, as they had been during her previous 
conversation with Lucy : they were animated 
with a cheery expression, and her eyes twinkled 
with kindness ; and when she stepped forward 
and stroked Lucy's cheek, the little girl did 
not shrink from the touch, it seemed so natural. 

" Nobody noticed you, I hope, my dear? " 

" No, ma'am," said Lucy. 

" Lucy," said Mme. Tussaud, " I am dying 
for a pinch of snuff and a good long sneeze." 

"Do you take snuff, ma'am?" asked the 
wondering Lucy. 

" I can't live without it, my dear." 

"Then why don't you take a pinch now?" 

"I dare not," replied Mme. Tussaud, "till 
I have put two Beings out of the way." This 
cold-blooded declaration — as though the old 
lady was contemplating a murder, or rather 
two murders — made Lucy shiver. . " Don't be 
alarmed ; they are quite used to it, and it will 
not hurt them the least bit in the world. The 
best of it is, they have no idea of what is being- 
done to them. Ha! the first one approaches. 
Crouch, child, crouch, and keep as still as a 
mouse! " 

Lucy obeyed, not without some apprehen- 
sion, and clasped her hands over her eyes. 
What dreadful deed was about to be com- 
mitted? From the end of the hall came the 
sound of measured footsteps. Was the Being 
a murderer who had escaped from the Cham- 
ber of Horrors, and would there be a struggle? 




Presently the sound of footsteps ceased, and 
all was quiet. Unable to restrain her curiosity, 
Lucy peeped timorously from her hiding-place. 

Mme. Tussaud had taken up her old posi- 
tion, and was standing perfectly still ; the Being 
was standing sideways, so that Lucy could not 
see his face. There was nothing threatening 
in his attitude; he appeared to be an ordinary 
person, dressed in the uniform of the exhibition. 
After pausing awhile, he resumed his walk, 
apparently satisfied that everything was as it 
should be. He took just three steps— no more ; 
for the moment his back was turned from Mme. 
Tussaud, that lady produced from beneath her 
skirt a slender, willowy cane, with which she 
touched the Being's shoulder. 

The effect was magical. Instead of turning 
to see who wanted him, the Being was instantly 
deprived of the power of motion — so com- 
pletely, indeed, that the foot he had lifted to 
take the next step remained suspended in 
the air. 

Then Mme. Tussaud nodded smilingly to 
Lucy, and said in a cheerful tone : 

" Get up, child ; he cannot see you now." 

Lucy rose slowly to her feet, and pointing 
to the Being, asked in a trembling voice : 

" What have you done to him? Is he dead? " 

"As a door-nail, my dear," replied Mme. 
Tussaud, with twinkling eyes, — and her eyes 
certainly had a wonderful twinkle in them,— 
" till I bring him to life again." 

" You can never do that," sobbed Lucy. 
" Oh, dear, oh, dear, you can never bring any- 
body to life after you have murdered him! 
It 's too, too dreadful! " 

"You simple little darling!" exclaimed 
Mme. Tussaud, laughing heartily, " you don't 
suppose I would commit murder, do you? " 

" But look at him," said Lucy, unable to 
check her tears; " he can't move! " 

" No, my dear, he can't, and that is what 
makes it so safe for us. If he could hear, or 
see, or speak, do you suppose he would allow 
me to do what I am going to do — for Lydia's 
sake, remember — without raising an alarm? 
He is one of my night watchmen, and a very 
trustworthy servant. Is it likely I would injure 
him? Do not be afraid ; he will not hurt you." 

She took Lucy's hand and led her up to the 

man, who stood motionless ard looked for all 
the world like one of the wax figures in the 
show. Mme. Tussaud raised his arm, and it 
remained stationary ; his head was turned to 
the right, and she turned it to the left ; and the 
surprising thing was that while she did these 
things he offered no resistance and the expres- 
sion on his features never varied. 

" Does he look as if I am hurting him, 
Lucy? " asked the old lady. 

" No, ma'am." 

" I will show you something more curious." 

She reversed the cane, and touched first the 
foot which was raised in the air, and then the 
other. Then, still keeping hold of Lucy's 
hand, she placed herself face to face with him, 
and slowly backed, beckoning him on with the 
cane. As if worked by machinery, he immedi- 
ately began to walk toward her as she con- 
tinued to walk backward. But when she re- 
versed the cane and touched him on the 
shoulder, he became fixed and motionless as 

"What do you think of that, Lucy? " asked 
Mme. Tussaud. 

" It is like magic," Lucy replied. 

" It is magic. This is a magic cane. Yes, 
my dear. It sends people to sleep as long as 
I wish them to sleep, and wakes them up again 
when I wish them to wake up." 

" And it really does n't do them any harm? " 

" Not the least. They are perfectly happy, 
and when they wake up they don't know what 
has occurred, and don't know that they have 
been asleep. They go on from where they left 
off just as if nothing had happened. When I 
bring this man to his senses he will continue 
his walk through the building in the most 
natural and unsuspicious manner. I could do 
just the same to you, Lucy." 

" Oh, no," said Lucy, shaking her head. 

" Oh, yes," said Mme. Tussaud, nodding 
hers. "As for my celebrities, I should n't be 
able to give them any relaxation, and should n't 
be able to keep them in order, without my cane. 
When they are obstinate I threaten them with 
it, and they immediately behave themselves." 

" What a wonderful cane! " said Lucy. 

" What a useful cane! " said Mme. Tussaud. 

" When people are in that state," asked 





Lucy, pointing to the night watchman, " do 
they dream? " 

" I will show you. Tell me the time." 
Mme. Tussaud took a pretty little old-fashioned 
gold watch from her waistband, and held it 
out to Lucy. " Take it in your hand." 

Lucy did so. " What a lovely watch! " she 
exclaimed. " Why, it is only a quarter past 
eleven. I thought it was — " 

Chapter IV. 


" — much later," said Lucy. 

" Much later than what? " asked Mme. Tus- 
saud, smiling. 

" Than a quarter past eleven," replied Lucy. 

" It is, my dear. Look again." 

Lucy looked at the watch, which she held 
in her outstretched hand, and, to her surprise, 
saw that it was twenty minutes to twelve. 

"How can I have made such a mistake?" 
she said, rather bewildered. 

" It was no mistake. The fact is, you have 
been asleep for exactly twenty-five minutes." 

"Asleep! Without my knowing it? Oh, 
you 're making fun of me! " 

" No, my dear. I touched you on the shoul- 
der with my magic cane." 

"Did you? I don't remember it." 

" They never do. I saw it distressed you 
when I sent one of my night watchmen to 
sleep, so I thought I would dispose of the other 
without your seeing. Now, perhaps, you will 
have entire confidence in me, and take every- 
thing for granted till Lydia is made happy." 

"Yes, I will, I will!" 

" That 's right ; we shall be able to get along 
splendidly. And be prepared for stranger 
things than you have already seen. I think I 
may now take my pinch of snuff with safety." 

She took a large pinch, and then another, 
and sneezed three times violently. 

"There! " said Mme. Tussaud, at last. " In 
my young days everybody took snuff. What 
have you in that paper bag? " 

" The chocolate creams you told me to buy." 

" So I did ; but you have n't eaten many." 

" No, ma'am. I saved most of them for the 
kings and queens. You said they liked them." 

"Thoughtful Lucy! So they do. Thank 
you ; they are quite refreshing. But you must 
keep more of them yourself. Though I do not 
like young people to be greedy, they ought to 
have their share of good things. Now, then, 
we must to work. We have to select the celeb- 
rities we shall take with us to Marybud Lodge. 


I have decided upon one, and I brought him 
up from below while you were asleep. He is 
just behind you." 

Lucy turned, and started back when she saw 
the Headsman from the tableau of the Execu- 
tion of Mary Queen of Scots. He wore his 
mask, and was leaning on his ax. 

" Don't be frightened," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" He will do only what I order him to do." 

"Oh, dear!" whispered Lucy, her heart 




beating very fast. " Will you order him to do 
anything ? " 

" I don't know," replied Mme. Tussaud, 
thoughtfully. " We shall be guided by events, 
and in any case he is a moral force. Only to 
look at him makes one shiver. When he is in 
Marybud Lodge I will keep him in the back- 
ground as much as possible. He is one ; now 
for the others. What do you think of King 
Henry VIII? Have you any objection to 

" Oh, no, ma'am," said Lucy, eagerly. 
" Shall I hear him speak? " 

" He will have something to say for himself, 
I promise you," said Mme. Tnssaud, with a 
chuckle. " Henry makes two." She checked 
them off on her fingers. " Queen Elizabeth, of 

" If you please, ma'am," said Lucy, perceiv-- 
ing that Mme. Tussaud awaited her approval. 

" She is three. Whom shall we have for the 
fourth? We will take Hougua, the famous 
Chinese tea-merchant, who objects topeople 
taking sugar in their tea. Guy Fawkes shall 
be the fifth, which is rather appropriate," — and 
here Mme. Tussaud laughed, — "for you have 
heard of gunpowder tea, have n't you? " 

" Oh, yes," said Lucy. 

" Then Richards I and III," continued Mme. 
Tussaud. " That makes seven. My Sleeping 
Beauty, Mme. Sainte Amaranthe, makes eight. 
She was one of the loveliest women in France, 
and is an immense attraction. Next, Oliver 
Cromwell— what do you say to him? " 

" If you think so, ma'am," said Lucy. 

" He will tone down the royal personages ; 
they are inclined to get too uppish unless they 
have some kind of a check upon them. He 
makes nine. Charles II makes ten, and all 
my fingers are used up. Loushkin, the Rus- 
sian giant, is eleven ; he is eight feet five inches 
high, and will lend weight to the party. And, 
by way of balance, we will take General Tom 
Thumb — the most comical little gentleman! 
You will hear him say some very quaint and 
smart things. I love my little Tom." 

" I should like him! " said Lucy. 

"You will get very fond of him. The next 
one must be a lady. Which would you prefer 
— Marie Antoinette or Mary Queen of Scots ? " 

" Oh, Mary Queen of Scots, please," said 
Lucy, clapping her hands, but adding quickly, 
" if the executioner won't chop off her head. 
You won't let him, will you? " 

" Indeed I will not. It would spoil my 
tableau. Extraordinary," murmured Mme. 
Tussaud, "what a favorite that celebrity is! 
Mary shall accompany us, as you wish it. Will 
you come with me and fetch her, or remain 
here till I bring her up? I hardly know how 
she will behave, for she has never yet felt the 
touch of my magic cane." 

" I will go with you, please," said Lucy. 

" Very well. Come along." 

The brisk way in which the old lady walked 
filled Lucy with fresh wonder, and they were 
soon downstairs, standing before the tableau 
of the Execution. 

" I must leave you for half a minute," said 
Mme. Tussaud. 

The old lady glided to the back of the ta- 
bleau, and in a few moments was standing by 
the side of Mary Queen of Scots, whose fair 
face was hidden by the kerchief tied across her 
eyes. Mme. Tussaud touched the shoulder of 
the kneeling queen with her magic cane. 

A shiver ran through Mary's form, but she 
made no further movement until Mme. Tus- 
saud unbound the kerchief from behind. As 
it fell to the ground she raised her head slightly, 
and turned it toward the spot where the execu- 
tioner had stood. There was a sly and timid 
look in her beautiful eyes, followed by a gleam 
of joy upon seeing that the executioner had 
disappeared! Then she sprang to her feet, and 
cried in the sweetest voice in the world : 

" The wretch has gone — the wretch has gone! 
A reprieve — a reprieve! By the rood, 't is 
well ! But oh, I have such a crick in my neck ! " 

She gazed in wonder at the motionless forms 
by which she was surrounded. Her eyes fell 
upon Mme. Tussaud, and she leaned forward 
and asked: "Who art thou? Surely not one 
of my tiring-women? Though I would not 
have those about me too fair. Hast lost thy 
tongue, dame? Who art thou? Speak!" 

" Your Majesty will be well advised to fol- 
low me without further questioning," said Mme. 
Tussaud. " But if you would prefer to remain 
where you are — " 




" Nay, nay! I am a-weary of this dungeon. 
But swear to me it is no new plot devised by 
my cousin Elizabeth — that thou art not sent 
by her for my destruction! " 

" I am not in the habit of swearing," said 
Mme. Tussaud. " I am not sent by Elizabeth, 
and if you would once more taste the joys of 
life, obey me." 

"Am I free, then? Am I free?" cried Mary. 

" For a while," said Mme. Tussaud. " For 
how long a time depends upon your behavior." 

" Know your place, dame! " exclaimed Mary, 

"And learn to know yours, Queen Mary," 
retorted Mme. Tussaud. " You have had some 
sharp lessons ; profit by them. Lucy, my 
dear, give her Majesty a chocolate cream." 

" 'T is toothsome," said Mary ; " the flavor 
is new to me." Then she whispered to Lucy : 
" Thou art more to my taste than the ancient 
dame — thou art more de bon aire. Hast thou 
another confiture? 'T is well — I thank thee. 
She called thee Lucie. I had a lady of that 
name who attended me when I was married 
to the Dauphin in the Church of Notre Dame. 
Art thou of royal blood? " 

" Oh, no, your Majesty," said Lucy. She 
was walking now by the side of Mary, and 
Mme. Tussaud was leading the way to another 
part of the ground floor. 

"Wilt thou serve me, Lucie? " 

"Yes, faithfully," replied Lucy, eagerly. 

" Alas ! " sighed Mary. " So many have sworn 

that, only to betray me! Was ever lady born 
to such a destiny? To be a queen before I 
was a week old, to be betrothed before I was 
six, and married before I was sixteen! My 
beauty was a theme in all the courts of Europe. 
Wherever I appeared admirers sighed and lan- 
guished at my feet. Pretty feet, are they not? " 
She put out one foot, then the other. " What 
size do you wear, Mile. Lucie?" 

"Twos, your Majesty," said Lucy. 

" I wear ones," said Mary, proudly. "And 
dost thou read, Mile. Lucie? I have written 
sonnets in French and Italian. Doth not that 
set thee wondering? And thou shouldst see 
me touch the lute ; thou wouldst never forget 
it. Poets have said my tresses are woven 
sunbeams and my eyes of star-like brightness. 
Cast thine own eyes upon them, and say 
whether thou thinkest them hazel or dark 

She was stooping, when Mme. Tussaud said 
in a sharp tone, " No loitering, Lucy ; we have 
a deal of work to do. Remember Lydia." 

This brought Lucy back to reality, and 
stopped the loquacious tongue of Mary Queen 
of Scots, who tossed her head and said 
haughtily : 

" I wot my gentle words are ill bestowed." 

Lucy's feelings were hurt, but greatly as she 
admired the beautiful queen, with her hair of 
light russet gold, Lydia came first. All the 
queens in the universe, ancient or modern, 
could not take the place of Lydia in her heart. 

{To be continued.) 


{Nonsense Verse.) 

Hosea Jose* chose a hose he needed for his Now this hose that Hosea chose is not his 

lawn — hose, they say ; 

Chose the hose he knows the best is; uses it at Though he chose the hose, he knows for it he 

dawn. did not pay ; 

From the hose that Hosea chose there flows a Owes he for the hose he chose, and therefore, 

steady stream ; I suppose, 

'Mid the roses Hosea's hose is useful, too, I Where'er goes he, Hosea Jose knows he owes 

deem. for hose. 

Arthur J. Burdick. 
* Pronounced H6-say'. 



By Edwin L. Arnold, 

Author of "Lepidus the Centurion." 

History would be the pleasantest sort of 
learning in existence if all the nations of the 
past had left memorials such as the Romans 
have, and if we could take our class-books afield 
and read of events there where they actually 
happened. This thought occurred to me last 
summer when I was bicycling alone in the wild, 
unpeopled fell country which still separates 
England from Scotland, and came almost by 
chance upon the remains of the great wall 
which the Emperor Hadrian built to keep those 
lively gentlemen, the Picts and Scots, out of 
the Roman province of Britain. 

I had read of it before, as every boy has, and 
traced the long seventy-mile line of that won- 
derful fortification on my map right across 
Northumberland from the Atlantic to the Ger- 

man Ocean; but it was just a line to me, as it 
probably is to you. And then all of a sudden 
that day, miles from even a shepherd's hut, I 
came upon the splendid ruin zigzagging across 
hill and vale as far as one could see on either 
hand, solitary and forgotten, yet impressive even 
in its decay. It was just as if I had tumbled 
right out of this humdrum, latter-day world right 
into the old one of emperors, prefects, centuri- 
ons, and all the gold and glitter, the splendor 
and wrong-doing of that great empire which 
once embraced all the known world. 

I forgot the busy life behind me as I jumped 
from my bicycle and threw myself down, sur- 
prised and delighted, in the heather, in the very 
midst of one of the best-preserved bits of the 
wall, and let my fancy call into being again all 



the incidents of the place. I remembered how where it climbed over the hilltops to east and 
the Romans had landed in Britain, and then in west. But little those ramping Picts cared for 
long years of endless conflict, while emperors the sacredness of boundaries ; they poured 
came and went in the far-away city on the through Agricola's great ditch whenever they 
Tiber, had pushed ■ 
their • way ever 
northward with 
that steady pur- 
pose which was 
their chief char- 
acteristic, seizing 
tract after tract, 
until at last they 
arrived here on 
what was to them 
the very edge of 
the world. Be- 
yond lay all mod- 
ern Scotland, a 
region then from 
which even their 
stubborn valor re- 
coiled. Unfortu- 
nately for the in- 
vaders, the exten- 
sive Scotian forests 
were full of a peo- 
ple who would not 
surrender and who 
could not be 
caught ; and after 
they had grown 
weary of chasing 
these naked sav- 
ages over hills 
covered in blue 
mist, the Emperor 
Agricola recalled 
all his legionaries 
within the North- 
and dug the first 
greatditchto mark 
the edge Ot the "they swarm up the steep approach, and surge against Hadrian's bulwark." (see page 21. 

imperial empire. 

There it was just as his men had left it when 
history was only beginning, overgrown with 
grass of coarse and white-flowered brambles 
in which the linnets build — a great cleft in the 
moor-side, and a notch against the blue sky 
Vol. XXXI. — 3-4. 

got a chance, and killed and burned right down 
to Eboricum in middle England. So presently 
Hadrian came over in turn, and northward by 
horse and chariot till he was here in the fell- 
country — a man not to be trifled with, quick, 

1 8 



in your museum cases. 
By his orders, it is sup- 
posed, they built, eigh- 
teen hundred yearsago, 
that wall from Tyne to 
Solway, over hill and 
dale, which shines to- 
day in the summer sun 
almost as perfect in 
places as it was when 
the last stone was set 
and fixed, and the hard 
Roman mortar settled 
down to withstand all 
that the Picts and the 
blows and buffets of 
eighteenhundred north- 
ern winters could do. 
Eight feet wide at the 
base, sixteen feet high 
when it was perfect, 

dark, and keen, with fierce bright eyes shining the great wall turned an adamant face to the 
out under those penthouse eyebrows you may northward. Not a stoat or a weasel could pass 
note in the portraits which his coins bear through between the two seas save at some half 






dozen gates placed at intervals of several miles 
along its course, and each of these portals led 
directly into military camps, whereof the walls 
and buildings are still traced by ruins even to- 
day. Between Hadrian's wall and Agricola's 
foss to the south of it is a strip of country about 
a quarter of a mile wide, and it was this the 
Romans garrisoned with necessary soldiers — 
tall Belgians, fair-haired Goths, dusky Span- 
iards, even Africans and Arabs from the out- 
lying provinces of their realm. How the hill 
sheep must have stared, and the ancestors of 
those very plovers piping in the solitudes over 
my head have screamed and wheeled, to see that 
garrison settle down for its four hundred years 
of watch and ward, a glittering band of steel 
and gold across the immensity of the lifeless 
bogs before and behind it ! And when the last 
mile was finished and Hadrian had gone south 
again, the life there must have been an almost 
unendurable monotony, broken by intervals of 
the wildest excitement. 

A few hundred yards away from where I sit 
is the famous camp of Borocovis, under shelter 
of the gray rampart which runs up to it on 
either side, and the nodding fir-trees. You can 
still see the pretorian's house and the ruined 
gateway, while the slope below is all in terraces, 
where the soldiers tried to grow their southern 
vegetables on the cold northern bogs ; and in 
the dip is a carefully leveled place where they 
had gladiatorial shows or chariot races. Like 
all the other troops in the long line of neighbor- 
ing camps, they got the main part of their sup- 
plies overseas from Gaul or Belgium, and if 
you try hard enough, how easy it is to imagine, 
there where the military road between ditch and 
wall comes out of the shadow of oak and haw- 
thorn, the high-sided cattle-wagons with a new 
season's supplies toiling in from the east. A 
great event for all those hungry exiles, thirsting 
for the pleasant things of the south, and, above 
all, for news of home ! The sentinel pacing 
along the wall in that never-ending tramp of 
theirs spreads the news, and all the garrison 
turns out to see them. They wind along the 
main road, then turn off to the camp itself 
across the amphitheater and up the hillside 
until they are at the gate itself and speedily 
enveloped in a crowd of eager welcomers. 

Among all the motley stuff they bring, there is 
something for everybody. There are letters for 
the pretorian from Rome itself — always a mat- 
ter of interest when you never know for cer- 
tain whether the next communication will an- 
nounce your election as emperor or order you 
to get your head cut off! There is a pay-chest 
for the soldiers — not so heavy as it ought to 
be ; a hundred rolls of crimson cloth from Tyre 
for buying the good- will of a Pictish chieftain ; 
a few great earthen jars of Cyprus wine, the 
last survivors of many broken on the journey; 
two tubs of cockles and limpets from Tyne- 
mouth, delicacies which always brought great 
joy to the Roman officers, who love shell-fish 
above all things ; new armor for the merce- 
naries ; more bales of cloth from Aries, and 
stacks of weapons from Iberian forges ; oil for 
the lamps in the long winter nights ; corn and 
honey, nails, tools, horse-harness, plows, seeds 
for sowing — everything, in fact, that these mili- 
tary Robinson Crusoes could desire : but no 
letters for the common soldiers, no newspapers ! 
Those few travel- stained warriors who tramped 
in behind the convoy are the garrison's postmen 
and newspapers in one ; they are fresh from the 
Imperial City, and, in an age when gossip was a 
virtue, it is to them that all go for news ; it is 
they who for the next fortnight will have to sit 
by twenty camp-fires and pour out for straining 
ears all the facts and fancies of the great world 
of Rome. 

There is high fun that night by the red 
blazes when all the stores have been replen- 
ished, and all the troopers paid, and the next 
day, perhaps, — if that letter did indeed bring 
the pretorian good news, — there are games in 
honor of the event: chariot races, mimic com- 
bats, and wrestling, with games for "the common 
people." And the next day after that the offi- 
cers get up a wild-boar hunt down by where 
Carlisle now stands, and have good sport, as 
the altars they erected to fallen monarchs of 
the forest tell us they often had. 

What fun they had to make up for all those 
dull days gone before ! How they sampled the 
good things just come from Tiber, and ate the 
roasted boar and venison their spears had 
brought down that day in the forests ! As I 
sit on the hillside opposite, though it all hap- 



pened nearly two thousand years ago, I can 
imagine the shine of the lights at dusk in the 
little casements all along the walls of the old 
camp ; and the strange shadowy groups about 
the camp-fires of the soldiers, and the darker 
outline of the sentinel, whose golden armor 
catches a twinkle now and then from the flames 
below as he walks solemnly to and fro against 
the black northern sky beyond. It is all so 
real that I fancy I can almost hear their laugh- 
ing and shouting and the yapping of the dogs 
quarreling over fragments of the feast — and 
then ! The sentinel halts suddenly in his 
pacing ! 

Little do the revelers know what is coming: 
but the man on the wall stares hard out into the 
barbarian forest for a minute or two, and then, 
snatching down a bugle from where it hangs on 
its nail by his watch-towers, blows a long wail- 
ing blast ; and at that sound all the merriment 
dies suddenly out of the Roman camp till not 
a chirrup is heard where all was noise before. 
Again the soldier stares hard into the night to 
make sure, and then sounds the alarm again 

with redoubled energy ; and as the blast dies 
away a wild roar of excitement rises from the 
imperial troopers. 

The barbarians are coming ! 

While two or three horsemen throw them- 
selves upon their ready chargers and go thunder- 
ing away east and west to warn other garrisons or 
ask for help, the camp-followers fly to hiding; 
the fortress gates ring down their stony grooves ; 
doors and windows are hastily barricaded ; the 
centurions swarm out to the walls, buckling 
swords and armor as they run ; and when the 
cressets flare upon the battlements, a mile up 
and down each way, they shine on a living line 
of glittering brass and steel. 

Rome is ready ! 

And none too soon. The Pictish spies have 
told their countrymen that the strangers feast 
to-night, and, hoping to catch them unawares, 
they have come down at dusk, — ten or twelve 
thousand of them, — and creeping forward in 
the darkness where a tongue of shadowy forest 
comes within a quarter of a mile of the wall, 
were just about to make their rush when the 






sentinel saw them. His warning note started 
the fierce tribesmen, and here they come across 
the intervening bog and heather. There is no 
artillery to check their progress, nothing to do but 
wait that moment when the short Roman sword 
can get to work; and it is not long in coming. 

The Picts sweep forward like ten thousand 
wolves ; yelling hoarse cries as they run, they 
swarm up the steep approach, and surge against 
Hadrian's bulwark as though they would bear 
it down by their sheer weight. The foremost 
men carry short lengths of pine-tree, with a foot 
of each branch still left upon them, and these 
they slope against the stonework by way of lad- 
ders; ten, twenty, thirty are planted, the storm- 
ers scrambling up, stabbing and thrusting as they 
come. Others, with long poles with hooks at 
the ends, try to crook these over the necks of the 
Romans and drag them down, and all the while 
the slings and bowmen pour in a withering 
storm of missiles on the defenders. Wilder and 
wilder becomes the uproar — with thousands of 
men at arm's length fighting for life. The mere 
rattle of the swords makes a noise like thunder; 

the cressets flare and splutter; the great black 
barbarian flood rises and rises, till at last even 
the gallant defending legion — "the valorous 
and ever victorious" — cannot stand that enor- 
mous pressure, the golden Roman line parts and 
reels back, and through the gap the barbarians 
pour over the wall. 

But it is a short-lived triumph. As they come 
shouting, overbearing along with them in the 
impetus of their rush scores of Romans, whose 
armor flashes now and then in the confused 
midstream of bear- and wolf-skins, the reserves 
that have been mustering in the shadow of the 
wall swing round and charge, — that straight, 
deadly charge, a running wall of linked shields, 
with the lightning of swords playing above, that 
settled a thousand disputed questions of ancient 
history. And it settles the Picts. They halt, 
and hesitate, and fly ; they die under the wall 
like wolves at bay ; they scramble back on to 
the ramparts, where a wild chaos of struggling 
forms heaves in the uncertain light ; they tumble 
headlong back among their kindred — those of 
them who ever get so far. The wall is won 



again, and as the exulting shout of the Romans 
echoes into the hills and startles the red deer in 
far-away glens and the sleepy kites upon the 
crags, the Northmen slowly fall back, dragging 
their wounded with them, and disappear into 
the forest shadows whence they came. 

That is the sort of episode which varied the 
monotonous lives of those old fighters. But the 
famous landmark they left behind them is quiet 
enough now as it shines in the pleasant English 
sun. I stroll over to it, and there in the crevices 
of the mortar the little Italian flowers, which 

have outlived a great empire and grow nowhere 
else in the neighborhood, are making the old 
masonry pleasant with their buds ; the larks are 
building under the forum steps in the camp, 
the mountain hares playing about the pretorian's 
ruined doorway ; and as I climb into the very 
gap that was defended so desperately some 
two thousand years ago, and sit down to eat a 
sandwich from my shoulder-bag, it is difficult 
to imagine a lovelier or more stately peace than 
hangs over that ruined memorial of a great 
episode in history. 




Grandmother knows how a stocking grows, 
Ribbing and purling and heels and toes; 
Now she is teaching our little Rose. 
" Put in the needle, 
Throw over the thread, 
Out with the needle, and off it goes ! " 

Grandmother's mouth gives a little twitch, 
Watching so slyly the eager witch, 
Ready to help at the smallest hitch. 
" Put in the needle, 
Throw over the thread, 
Out with the needle, and there 's the stitch !" 

Grandmother sees in a misty dream, 
Her eyes still fixed on the needles' gleam, 
Pastured flocks and a gurgling stream — 
" Grandma ! oh, we forgot the seam ! " 
" Bring the thread forward, 
The needle this side, 
Then over — off — and we 've made the seam." 

Grandmother knows how a stocking grows, 
Ribbing and purling and heels and toes ; 
Now she is teaching our little Rose. 

Mary J. Jacques. 




■ f ? 

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tesssi/ jRw 

qmm/rf ffll* t$ 


L#V ( .;jy ^S n 



By Henry Gardner Hunting. 

" Ted, would you like to go to Chicago with 
father ? " 

Mr. Bronson stood in the dining-room look- 
ing at his small son, who was finishing the last 
vestige of a second piece of strawberry short- 

Ted jumped as though a fire-cracker had 
been let off beside his ear, and looked ques- 
tioningly at his mother, who had come in and 
who was smiling at him. Chicago ? Would 
he like to go ? With father ? Well, most as- 
suredly ! " Yes, sir," he said hastily aloud, 
slipping promptly off his chair, and making a 
not altogether successful attempt to use and 
fold his napkin at the same time. 

" We have just half an hour to catch the 

train for Grand Haven, Elinor, and we '11 get 
the boat there," said Mr. Bronson to his wife. 
" We '11 be in the city early in the morning. 
I '11 see Wyatt at once, and close the contract, 
I hope." 

" Oh, John, I hope so." 

Mrs. Bronson's eyes were shining with plea- 
sure, and even Ted could see the unusual flush 
in his father's face, and knew that something of 
moment had occurred — something which made 
his parents both happy and anxious. 

" You will be father's private secretary, Ted," 
said his mother, laughing. " You must show 
what a good business man you are, for this trip 
means a great deal to us all. If father gets this 
contract it will mean — " 



" Don't anticipate, dear," said Mr. Bronson. 
" We won't count our chickens yet. We '11 just 
hope and try hard to win. Ted will help father to 
get there on time. • We must n't miss any trains 
or boats, or we '11 be too late and spoil it all." 

Ted could dress rapidly — on occasion. 
That morning he had taken half an hour to put 
on his school clothes, anticipating only an ordi- 
nary day. That noon, with a lake trip to Chi- 

" Who is Wyatt, father ?" asked Ted, who 
had remembered the odd name. 

" Mr. Wyatt ? He is a friend of mine who 
is a director in the company which is to own 
the building, and he has seen the plans. He 
favors my cause, you see, and will do everything 
he can to help me. He has an office in the 
Masonic Temple." 

Ted was no stranger to city life. His own 

cago in prospect, it required but ten minutes for home town was a live and bustling place, where 

him to get into his best 

little blue serge suit, to 

have his tie properly 

bowed, and his hair 

parted straight. When 

he waved his hand in 

farewell to his mother 

from the seat in the car 

bound for the station, 

she laughed aloud at 

the quick time he had 


The trip from Grand 
Rapids to Grand Ha- 
ven by train was not 
new to Ted, who had 
gone so far on little 
journeys with his father 
before. But the steamer 
trip across Lake Michi- 
gan to the big city, of 
which every Western 
boy thinks with much 
admiration , curiosity,or 
wonder, would be a de- 
lightful thing. Besides, 
this hurried important 
business trip was excit- 
ing and interesting, and 
Mr. Bronson told Ted 
all about it on the train. 

It S the plans tliey '• 'HE did not sleep here last night,' said ted." (see page 26.) 

want to see," he said, 

patting a big paper-wrapped roll which lay be- 
side his grip. " They 're for a big building in 
the city, and I hope to get the contract at the 
directors' meeting, which is to be held to-mor- 
row in Chicago. Of course there are many other 
architects after it, and that 's why it is so impor- 
tant that my plans should get there in time." 

street traffic was heavy, and buildings rose to 
what seemed to him huge proportions. He was 
familiar with rushing cars and cabs and the 
clanging gongs of fire-engines, police patrols, 
and ambulances. Boy-like, too, he loved it all, 
the turmoil and the din, and it was anticipation 
of a greater degree of all this in the great 




metropolis, with many wonders added, which 
made his heart beat with happy excitement. 

The night boats which cross Lake Michigan 
from Grand Haven to Chicago start from Mus- 
kegon, farther up the Michigan shore, and on 
this particular night the boat Mr. Bronson had 
expected to take was delayed at the former 
place. Further cause for delay arose in con- 
nection with freight-loading after Ted and his 
father went on board, and as the hour grew 
late, Ted, in preparation for the morrow, climbed 
into his berth and went to sleep while the 
steamer was still at the wharf in Grand Haven. 
The last thing he heard before he entered the 
land of dreams was the closing of the state-room 
door by his father, who again went out on deck. 

It was daylight when Ted awoke, a foggy gray 
daylight indeed, but unmistakably day. The first 
thing he noted when he opened his eyes was the 
dim glimmer at his port-hole, which made him 
wonder where his big home bedroom window 
was. Then he felt the pounding throb of the 
steamer's engines, and heard the rattle of some 
loose bit of metal somewhere in the state-room. 

His eyes brightened and widened as he 
turned over on his side, looking curiously about 
and listening eagerly. It was very still all 
about, except for the engine's pounding and a 
delicious hiss and splash of water outside, which 
instantly brought to his mind a vivid picture of 
the racing waves and the plowing steamer. He 
could feel the rise and fall and roll of the vessel, 
and a sudden exultant pleasure in it all made 
him sit up and laugh aloud. 

The sound of his own laugh seemed very 
noisy to Ted. He dropped down upon the 
pillow again, wondering if he had disturbed any 
other sleepers. He listened to note whether he 
could hear his father's breathing in the lower 
berth, and then he crept to the edge of his bunk 
and peered over and down into the bed below. 

It was empty ! The covers were smoothly 
laid. It had not been slept in ! 

Ted's eyes opened wide in wonder. What 
was this ? Where was his father ? Had he 
slept alone in the state-room all night ? If so, 
what did that mean ? Surely his father would 
not sit out on deck all night. He clambered 
over the edge of his berth and dropped to the 
floor. The rough rug felt strange to his bare 

feet, and seemed to add to a sudden growing 
feeling of loneliness which was coming over 
him. He reached for his clothes and began 
hustling into them at his fastest pace. When 
he was dressed, he opened the state-room door 
timidly and peered out. 

A very big man in a blue uniform, with gold 
bands on cap and sleeves, was just passing. 
" Hello there, early bird ! " he said to Ted, with 
a jovial wink which suited his round, red, jolly 
sort of face. 

" Do you know where my father is ? " asked 
Ted, promptly taking courage. 

" Your father, youngster ? " asked the purser, 
stopping. " I don't. Maybe I have n't the 
pleasure of his acquaintance." 

"He did n't sleep here last night," said Ted, 
backing into his room and pointing to the berth. 

The purser glanced inside, and then he looked 
at the boy questioningly. " What does your 
father look like, son ? " he asked gently. 

" He 's big, with a brown beard," replied 
Ted, watching the officer's face anxiously. 

The purser extended his hand to the boy. 
" Come on," he said. " We '11 look for him." 

They did look. First the purser sent Ted 
running to various likely places ; then the officer 
himself took up the search. After that, as the 
quest had been fruitless, the steward was called 
in, and cabin-boys and waiters were summoned, 
questioned, and then they joined the hunt. Of 
course it did not take long to search the steamer 
thoroughly. But no one found Mr. Bronson. 

The purser told Ted in as cheery a manner 
as he could, explaining that the father must 
have gone ashore and been left behind, and he 
treated the matter as a joke for Ted to laugh at. 
But Ted's heart, which had been steadily sink- 
ing, seemed to go into the very soles of his 
shoes. Though he could see the reasonableness 
of the purser's theory, he could not quiet his 
own fright and anxiety, and certainly he could 
not laugh. When the search was over, he went 
back to his state-room, and sat down on the 
edge of the lower berth in misery greater than 
he had ever known before, despite the purser's 
promise to take care of him. He was too 
thoroughly alarmed to cry, even if he would have 
allowed himself that indulgence at all. What 
should he do ? What had happened to his 




father ? Where should he go in the city till his 
father could come for him ? How was he to 
get anything to eat ? 

The questions raced through his brain in 
helter-skelter fashion, and received no reason- 
able reply. Then suddenly one question rose 
in his mind which shut out all the rest so quickly 
that he forgot them instantly. 

What about the plans ? 

Those precious plans ! There they were at the 
foot of the berth, just where his father had put 
them. They were to have gone this morning 
to the man with the queer name in the Masonic 
Temple who was to get the contract for father. 

Ted's heart almost stood still. He remem- 
bered his mother's shining eyes, his father's 
flushed face, when they had spoken of the hope 
for this contract. He remembered what his 
father had said about the importance of being 
on time for the directors' meeting. 

He sat up very straight on the edge of the 
berth, and stared at the roll of plans, while he 
thought intently. Then he suddenly slid off the 
bed and went on deck. 

It was a strange sight that met his eyes. 
There lay the great city directly before them, 
only a little distance away. It was very, very 
big. It stretched far, far away in each direc- 
tion. But oh, how different from what Ted had 
expected! How dark it was! Fog and smoke 
and steam everywhere hung in great masses 
above it. Tall buildings stretched themselves 
up into the mist till their tops were lost in it. 
The lake shore to the north and south faded 
away under its shadow, and the streets were 
only dimly discernible through the murk. 

As they drew nearer, the cloud seemed to 
settle down more and more closely. When 
they entered the mouth of the river, it was as 
though the whole morning sky had been shut 
out and the air was hot and sultry and stifling. 

Ted's anxiety deepened despite the new 
strange scenes and atmosphere, perhaps because 
of them. Almost a hundred miles of water lay 
behind him — between him and his father, his 
mother. Here he was alone, friendless, unknown 
and unknowing, without money, without a place 
to go, entering a big, strange city, where he 
must — 

A roaring whistle which deafened him and 

seemed almost to lift him from his feet with its 
tremendous vibrations burst out upon the air 
behind him. The buildings on either side sent 
back bellowing echoes, till he clapped his hands 
to his ears to shut out the painful blows the 
sound-waves seemed to strike. They were in 
the river now. Other whistles were blowing, 
bridges were swinging, tugs were scudding 
about, rooting up the dirty, greasy surface of 
the stream with their black noses like so many 
little pigs in a mud-puddle. The big steamer 
swung up to her dock amid a babel of shouts and 
the noise of hawsers sliding over decks ; there 
was a rattle of chains, and the hollow bump of 
the gang-plank; and Ted brought up his grip 
and the roll of plans, and went to the purser. 

A tall policeman was the first person to cross 
the plank when it was run out, and he crossed 
from shore to steamer. In his hand he held a 
yellow sheet, and the moment he saw Ted with 
the purser he came directly up to them. 

" You 've a runaway kid here, purser," he 
said, looking hard at Ted and handing the 
telegram to the boat officer. 

Ted stared. The purser took the telegram 
and read it aloud : 

" Chief of Police, Chicago : Find boy on steamer 
" Queen," of line from Grand Haven, arriving Chicago 
9 A.M. Has small grip and papers. Hold boy at head- 
quarters till I arrive by day-boat. 

"John Bronson." 

" That puts a different light on it," said the 
purser, looking sharply at Ted. " What did 
you run away for, son ? " 

" I did n't run away," said Ted. Surprise, 
then indignation, rose within him. The hot 
tears started to his eyes. How could they so 
interpret the message ? It did not say he had 
run away. He started to protest, but the police- 
man reached down and took the grip which 
Ted was holding, and then took his hand 

Ted's whole soul rose in resentment. He 
had not run away. He had done nothing in 
any way reprehensible. He would not be taken 
in hand thus as a truant. His father had cer- 
tainly not intended it. 

But the policeman's grip was strong, and to 
attempt escape was as useless as though his big 




hand were a steel trap. Ted waited, thinking 

One consideration was more important than 
all others. If the delivery of the plans to Mr. 
Wyatt were so important as to cause his father to 
plan this sudden rush to Chicago, and to justify 
the look of hope and anxiety which his mother's 
face had shown, Ted was certain that those 
plans ought to be delivered. He suddenly re- 
membered his mother's little joke about his being 
father's private secretary. Here he was in 
Chicago, — alone, to be sure, but not entirely 
helpless, — and here were the plans. He would 
deliver them. 

The consciousness of new responsibility as- 
sumed caused him to straighten his shoulders as 
he walked up from the wharf beside the officer. 
Presently he stopped and tugged at the police- 
man's hand. " I must go an errand for my 
father," he said. 

" Is that so ? " said the officer, turning and 
grinning down at him. " I s'pose ye come 
across the lake fer that, did ye ? " 

" I did," asserted Ted. " Father started with 
me, but got left by the boat." 

"Humph!" The policeman laughed. "You're 
goin' to headquarters," he replied. 

" I won't ! " cried Ted. He made a sudden 
wrench to free himself; but the officer's giant 
hand closed upon his fingers with such a crush- 
ing force that he cried aloud with pain. 

" Now be good, will ye ? " said the officer. 
" I did n't mean to hurt ye, but you 're goin' 
with me." 

Ted quieted down. He had plenty of good 
sense, and, though he was rebellious enough, he 
knew that he must change his tactics. 

They passed up through a street that was full 
of heavy traffic — big three-horse teams labori- 
ously pulling wide trucks loaded with immense 
burdens of barrels and boxes. The wheels 
made unceasing clatter over the paving-stones. 
A block ahead Ted could see the huge iron 
trestle of an elevated road, and trains were 
driving in both directions around the curve 
which led from a cross-street, the straining 
wheels pulling a ringing note from the rails, 
like the prolonged tone of a brazen bell. The 
roar of the streets began to awe him. It was 
different from what he had expected. The noise 

was ceaseless; the stream of people and of 
vehicles was continuous. Pushing, bustling, 
driving — all that he had looked for ; but there 
was a sudden sense of loneliness upon him, a 
feeling that he had no friend in all the great 
throng, which was quite new to him. The 
policeman he considered only an enemy. At 
the corners the truck-drivers seemed to be try- 
ing to ride him down. People brushed against 
him, and passed on without looking. The 
motormen of the cable cars jangled their harsh, 
dull-sounding gongs, and drove their three-car 
trains around the curves with what appeared 
reckless disregard of the people, who seemed 
barely to escape each time. 

Ted's heart sank lower. Everything about 
him was utterly strange — so different from his 
home in the Michigan city ; and everything 
was wholly against him. How was he to accom- 
plish his object, to find Mr. Wyatt, to deliver 
the plans on time ? 

He bit his lip to keep down the tears. He 
must. He alone could help his father now. 
He would — he would! Nothing should stop 
him. He would deliver the plans to Mr. Wyatt, 
and do all he could to forward his father's inter- 
ests in this crisis. He would not be a baby or 
a coward. He would fight it out, and no one 
should prevent him. He set his teeth again to 
crush out the desperate sense of failure and to 
hold his oozing courage. His head ached, and 
he was sick with excitement and anxiety, and 
hungry now, for he had had no breakfast. He 
looked about him with a last unhappy effort. 

" Where is the Masonic Temple ? " he asked 
abruptly of the officer. 

The policeman grinned, turned, and pointed 
across the street, where Ted saw a big brown 
building, in and out of the doors of which the 
people were swarming like bees at a hive. 

" Take me over there," said the boy, with 
quick pleading. " It 's only a step. Take me 
there, and you '11 find a man who will know 
I 'm telling you the truth. I did n't run away; 
but I must take these plans to Mr. Wyatt this 
morning, or it will be too late. Oh, I must! 
I must! Don't refuse me, please — please! 
I '11 do anything — go to jail — anything after- 
ward. Take me over there." 

Ted's voice was very earnest, and his eyes 




shone with a light which affected the big officer 
more than his words. 

" Sure, you 're a little duffer to run away," 
he muttered half above his breath. " Plans, is 
it ? Who ? Wyatt ? Well, it 's just across there. 
Well, well, don't cry, you know." 

He looked across at the Temple building and 
considered. " Who is your pa, young un ? " he 
asked, after a moment. 

" He 's Mr. John Bronson, of Grand Rapids, 


Michigan. He 's an architect ; he makes plans 
for buildings." 

" Oh ! " said the officer. " Well, it can't 
harm ye to go there, I s'pose." He was look- 
ing down at the boy with quizzical amusement 
in his eyes, but with a certain approval of the 
little fellow's persistence, too, and — was it 
sympathy ? 

A moment later they had threaded their way 
across the roaring street and entered the great 
corridor. An inquiry from the elevator-starter, 

and a moment later the boy was rushing up in 
one of the semicircle of cars toward an upper 
floor, scarcely able to realize the sudden change 
in his fortunes. 

The room was full of men when Ted opened 
the door to which he had been directed, and he 
was very much embarrassed when they all 
stopped talking and looked at him. The big 
officer filled the doorway behind him and cut 
off his retreat, if he had thought of retreat ; but 

he did n't, even in 
the face of wonder- 
ing, curious looks. 
"Mr. Wyatt?" he 
asked, flushingpain- 
fully, but holding 
his head up bravely. 
A little man with 
very bright brown 
eyes turned from a 
chair by a desk. 
" Right here," he 
said, smiling. 

"I 've brought 
the plans which 
the new building is 
going to be built 
from," said Ted, his 
heart beating till it 
hurt him. 

at him in surprise. 
Then suddenly one 
of the other gentle- 
men laughed, and a 
momentlater all the 
rest joined in heart- 
ily. EvenTed's po- 
liceman grinned. 
" You 've got ahead of us, son," said one very 
fat gentleman in a high silk hat. " We were 
still dissatisfied with all the plans we have so 
far. But what is your name, and where do you 
come from with such news ? " 

The other men laughed again, but Ted told 
them his name and his story straight out. They 
laughed again, more than once ; but when Mr. 
Wyatt had told them who Ted's father's was, 
the fat man, who was called Captain Clarke, 
and who seemed to be a very important per- 



sonage, suddenly slapped his knee and said 
good-humoredly : " Maybe he 's right. Maybe 
he 's right. Perhaps these are the plans we '11 
build from. Let 'shave 'em, son. You 're just in 
time ; and if these plans are as good as Wyatt 
says, we '11 give your father the contract ; and he 
deserves it, if we may judge from his boy." 

A great deal that Ted did n't understand 
followed — an argument of several minutes, 
through which he sat by a window, watching 
the street below, and wondering if he would 
get anything to eat that day. 

Then at last Mr. Wyatt came to him, and 
taking him by the hand, asked him if he was 
hungry ; and then, after having the officer tele- 
phone to headquarters for permission to leave 
the boy with Mr. Wyatt, with the understanding 
that that gentleman would be responsible to the 
police department, and produce him if neces- 
sary, he took the boy to a little delicious early 
luncheon at a big restaurant, where Ted lost his 
headache and became happier. And then he 
went back to Mr. Wyatt's office, where he 
stretched out on a big leather couch in an inner 
room and slept the long afternoon through. 

Mr. Wyatt took him to the docks that night 
to meet the boat and his father ; and when the 
big steamer made her landing, Mr. Bronson 
clasped a very happy though tearful little son in 

his arms, while he himself was so glad to find 
the boy safe that he forgot all about the plans 
and the failure, to which he had been trying to 
reconcile himself, while he told Ted with much 
self-blame how he had been left by the steamer 
through having gone ashore on an errand and 
having mistaken the time for returning. 

And then Mr. Bronson turned, supposing a 
police officer had brought Ted to the dock; 
but, instead, he found Mr. Wyatt, who put 
out his hand and said quickly : " Congratula- 
tions, Bronson ! The boy has won the day 
for you. Your plans were approved and ac- 

" How — what ? " exclaimed Mr. Bronson. 

And then Mr. Wyatt told the whole tale. " Of 
course we liked the plans, you know," he said 
at the end, "but the boy cinched the decision; 
for Captain Clarke took an immense fancy to 
his having come away over here alone, and 
having the nerve to deliver the plans even in 
spite of the officer — in spite of his fright and 
going all morning without any breakfast. He 
really likes the plans ; but he likes the boy, too, 
and he says it 's the boy's contract." 

" Well, I guess it is, Wyatt," said Mr. Bron- 
son, holding his little son's hand tightly. " I 
guess it 's Ted's contract, for I would have 
missed it, sure." 


(A Nonsense Rhyme from the French.) 

By Henry Johnstone. 

When three hens go a-walking, they 
Observe this order and array : 
The first hen walks in front, and then 
Behind her walks the second hen, 
While, move they slow or move they fast, 
You find the third hen walking last. 






By Hector Rosenfeld. 

A tiny mouse on pleasure bent, 
Of human wiles all innocent, 
Away from home exploring went. 

Allured by Biddy's tempting bait, 
Designed its greed to stimulate, 
It started to investigate. 

" What 's this I see ? " Miss Mousey cried, 

As soon as she the trap espied. 
" A cunning house with cheese inside ! 

" I think I '11 take a little bite ; 

But wait ! " she said, with sudden fright ; 
" I 'm not quite sure that it 's all right. 

' It may be like those horrid traps 
That mother warned me of, perhaps, 
And when you nibble, it quickly snaps. 

' So first of all, I '11 climb on top 
And pull the catch to make it drop, 
And when that 's safe then down I '11 hop." 

And this was how the little bandi: 
Secured her prize, contrived to land it — 
And Biddy could n't understand it. 

In courting danger it were fit 
That we employ both care and wit, 
Lest we should prove the biter bit. 

THOUGHTFUL GLANCE." (Seepage 35.) 



By Albert Bigelow Paine. 

" You 'll have to bring my dinner two 
blocks farther to-day, Millie." 

" Have they moved you, daddy ? " 

" Yes ; to the Thirtieth Street crossing. And 
you 'd better start a bit earlier, Millie, so as to 
be in time. Our noons seem short enough, 
and the foreman's watch won't wait." 

The little girl hesitated in her dish-washing. 

" Daddy," she began. But just then the 
baby commenced to whimper and wriggle in 
his rickety high chair, and she turned to soothe 
him. Her father waited a little restlessly. 

" What is it, Millie ? I must be going, you 
know. Don't forget that foreman's watch." 

The baby was comforted with his string of 
spools. Millie looked up anxiously. 

" Daddy, can't I hurry instead of starting 
earlier ? I mean, if I get there in time ? " 

" But how can you hurry with a baby and 
a dinner-pail? It 's too bad a little girl like 
you has to carry that big child so far. Why 
don't you let me take my dinner, Millie ? At 
least, until mama gets well enough to care for 

" Oh, but I want you to have it hot, daddy. 
And I like to take baby along. Baby likes it, 
too, and always laughs when she goes by. And 
we won't meet her if we go any sooner." 

John Fredlin's face had a puzzled look on it. 

" Who, Millie ? Who is it you won't meet ? 
But never mind, now, honey. You can tell me 
when you come. Hurry, if you want to, only 
be careful of baby, and don't be late." 

The big man stooped to kiss the little girl of 
eleven, so faithful in her care of his poor house- 
hold. She flung her arms about his neck. 

" We won't be late, daddy. We won't be late 
— will we, baby ? " And turning, she hugged 
the fat little bunch of health, who hammered his 
string of spools on the table in front of him, 
and jumped and crowed in her arms. 

John Fredlin stepped to the door of their 
other small, dim room, and softly tiptoed across 
to the bed in the farther corner. 
Vol. XXXI.— 5-6. 

" I 'm going now, Carrie," he said. " Is 
there anything I can bring when I come ? " 

" No, John, nothing ; unless you can bring 
me fresh air and sunshine and green grass." 

The woman's voice was feeble and perhaps a 
little fretful from long illness. The man touched 
his lips to her forehead. 

" I can't bring those," he said, " but I will 
take you to them, I hope, soon. It 's getting 
spring. I saw trees with green buds on them 
as I passed the park yesterday. I think I can 
surely find a place in the country now." 

He pressed the thin hand that lay in his, and 
hurried away, down four long, dark flights of lit- 
tered stairs to the noisy, crowded, ill-smelling 
avenue of New York City's East Side. 

John Fredlin's heart grew heavier as he 
pushed his way along and remembered his lit- 
tle family. Less than a year before he had 
been a gardener on a pretty farm just beyond 
the suburbs, with a cottage all to himself, a wife 
well and happy, broad fields where their little 
girl could play, and a pretty brick school-house 
where she was always first in her classes. 

Then, one day, the owner of the place de- 
cided to raise flowers for market, with a little 
shop in the city. The keeping of this shop he 
offered to John Fredlin, who believed it to 
be his chance in life. But, alas ! we cannot 
know how things may turn. The shop did not 
pay at first, and just when it was beginning to 
do better, the owner of the little farm died, and 
it passed into other hands. The shop was 
closed, winter was near, and John Fredlin was 
without work. Nobody wanted a gardener or 
farm help of any kind at that season. Nobody 
seemed to want help of any sort. Week after 
week went by, and money ran very low. The 
Fredlins moved twice, each time to a cheaper 
place. Then baby came, Mrs. Fredlin grew ill, 
and the doctors and medicine took what little 
money remained. But the sick woman needed 
the things that are given free, — when you can 
live where they are to be found, — sunlight and 





fresh air. John Fredlin had obtained employ- 
ment, at last, as a laborer on a great piece of 
public work, and Millie, who became his brave 
housekeeper, cook, and nurse all in one, had 
brought him his noon meal, with news of the 
sick woman at home. Now winter was over. As 
he passed Gramercy Park, that place of spacious 
and quiet homes so short a distance from his 
own squalid street, he saw that the buds were 
larger and greener than yesterday. He must 
advertise at once for a place in the country. 
He wondered how he would spare the money. 
They would do without something else. The 
place they must have. That was the thing 
most needed now. 

Millie, left behind, finished her morning 
duties, and put on to cook the simple things 
that were for her father's dinner. Now and 
then she would slip in to see if her mother 
were asleep, or to show her the baby and ex- 
change a word of comfort. There was some- 
thing, oh, a great deal, that she would have 
liked to tell her mother, for they had been 
always such sweet companions ; but the doctor 
had said that her mother must have quiet, 
so Millie did not say many words to her, nor 
go in often. Most of the time — for the baby 
was likely to be noisy — she kept the door 
closed between. 

The thing she was eager to tell her mother 
had been in her heart several days. It was 
one of the things that come into our lives 
all at once, and seem nothing at all, at first, 
until somehow or other we suddenly find we 
cannot get along well without them. It was 
this that had made her wish to start at the 
usual time, even if she had to . hurry very fast 
afterward to avoid being late with her father's 
dinner. She would tell him all about it while 
he rested and ate. Millie drifted into a sweet 
day-dream which came often to her now, a 
dream in which she and that other one were 
somewhere together in green fields, with mama 
and daddy and the baby, and all through some 
brave deed that she, Millie, had done — some 
quick courageous act such as she had read of 
poor children doing for rich ones, thus earning 
happiness for all. Oh, if she might only do 
a thing like that! How willingly she would 
rush into fire, or fling herself at the bridles 

of a runaway team ! She imagined herself 
doing these things, and pictured it all so vividly 
that her hands moved faster and her cheeks 
burned with the excitement of it all. By and 
by she realized that time was passing, and that 
she must go with her father's dinner. Presently 
she had packed a tin pail with the hot, smoking 
food and was ready. Then she tied on baby's 
little cap, which she kept fresh and clean, and 
taking him on her arm, with the pail in her other 
hand, she stepped softly into her mother's room. 

The sick woman was awake, and laid her 
thin hand on Millie's sturdy brown arm. 

" My brave little girl," she said — " my dear, 
brave girl ! What would we do without you ? " 

Millie kissed the white hand, and bent over 
so that it could touch the baby's cheek. Oh, 
she was glad to be called brave ! Her mother 
could not have given her greater reward. If 
only she might have a chance to show them 
how brave she could be ! It seemed nothing 
to her to cook and to tend the little rooms and 
care for baby. She was willing to do so much 
more — to dare the flames or wild horses for 
the sake of that other one who would make 
them all happy as a reward. But all the way 
down the wretched stairs and along the loud, 
jostling streets she remembered how sweet her 
mother's words had sounded. 

It was not far to Gramercy Park. Millie 
had noted the time as she came away, and 
knew that she need not hurry — not yet. After 
she had passed the park, then she would fairly 
fly. She was strong, and her bare feet were 
so light. Perhaps that other one had never 
known what it was to step without shoes on the 
cool, smooth pavement or the soft, yielding 
grass that Millie had loved so well. Millie 
wished that together they might skip with bare 
feet across the fresh green meadows. Perhaps 
that other one would not be allowed to do it. 
She was so dainty and fine, and the old grim 
one with her so severe. Remembering the fine 
daintiness of that other, Millie looked down on 
her own slender feet and wished they were cov- 
ered. She had hardly thought of that at first. 
But then, she had thought so much since that 
first day less than a week ago ! The dainty one 
had become a part of her life since then. 

She was entering Gramercy Park now at 




Twentieth Street, and her eyes eagerly looked 
through and beyond the iron railing. Once 
she had met them coming out of the park; 
other times they had been walking on the pave- 
ment just outside. Millie thought they came 
here for a morning airing. As she neared 
Twenty-first Street the little girl's face became 
anxious. What if her clock had been wrong 
and she was too soon or too late ? Then all at 
once, far to the other end, there was a gleam 
of white. An instant later Millie was at the 
corner. Oh, then her heart beat very fast ; for 
there, under the trees, just turning the further 
corner, was that other little girl, with the grim 
one, the nurse, who was always at her side. 
Dainty and fine ? Yes, indeed, she was all that. 
From the bewitching hat of chiffon and rib- 
bons to the speckless white dress, gay parasol, 
and trim stockings and ties, she was so perfect 
and wonderful that Millie, watching her as she 
drew near, could hardly breathe with the marvel 
of it all. And then her face, with those long 
curls of gold about it — it seemed to Millie the 
face of an angel. Millie did not realize that 
her own sweet oval features, with her darker 
hair gathered in a knot at the back, might be 
beautiful, too. She forgot herself entirely. She 
forgot the black-gowned grim one who walked 
so stiffly and sternly beside her vision. She 
forgot even the baby until they were almost 
near enough to pass, and then she saw that, as 
usual, it was at the baby more than at her that 
the other was looking, and she felt the baby 
suddenly turn and cuddle to her shoulder for 
safety. Then the dainty one had passed, but 
as she did so she gave Millie a gentle, thought- 
ful glance that made her heart grow warm. 
Perhaps if it had not been for the grim one 
that rare creature with the angel face might 
have given her a word. Millie thought she 
would do anything for a single word from that 
vision of loveliness. But now she must hurry. 
She arrived just as the clocks were striking and 
her father was laying down his shovel. 

" Why, Millie, child, you 're all out of breath," 
he said. " You ought not to run like that. It 
is n't good for you, with such a load, and it is n't 
safe. Now tell me why you did n't want to 
start so you could have taken your time." 

So, sitting by her father on a little pile of 

bricks, Millie told him of her first meeting with 
the beautiful dainty child and her grim nurse 
nearly a week before. Also, how she had met 
them every day since, and how the dainty one 
had always turned to look at baby. But she 
did not tell him of the fire and wild horses of 
her day-dreams. She was afraid he would not 
believe in them. Besides, she wanted all that 
to be a surprise when it came. As for John 
Fredlin, he listened rather sadly, saying little. 
He knew that such people as the dainty one 
were far from their lives. Soon she would be 
going to the country — to some great place 
where there were hills and meadows and bright 
water. She would never know what it was to 
be shut up in two poor rooms and toil as Millie 
toiled, with a sick mother and a baby to care 
for. If she had looked at them it had been only 
out of pity; but if she did not see them to-mor- 
row it would make no difference, while to Millie 
it had already become so much that she had run 
until she was ready to drop for the sake of that 
single passing glance. John Fredlin was not 
envious or bitter, but, looking at the sweet, faith- 
ful little girl beside him, he yearned to be able 
to buy her pretty clothes and to give her a 
childhood among happy things. 

" Millie," he said presently, " I would n't 
run to-morrow. I 'd start earlier." 

" But I won't see her, daddy, if I do that. 
She 's always by the park just before twelve." 

" I know, honey. But it don't do any good 
to see her. I mean she don't care for us, and 
it 's not a good thing for you to care, either. 
Forget all about her, honey." 

It was hard for John Fredlin to say this, but 
he believed it best for Millie. He knew her 
quick little mind and her hungry little heart. 

" You '11 start earlier to-morrow, won't you. 

" Yes, daddy." 

"That 's my girl. Run home, now — walk, 
I mean. Don't run any more with baby." 

" Yes, daddy." 

The little girl could not say any more. She 
would begin crying if she did. 

Faithful to her word, Millie next day left the 
house earlier. As she passed along the park, her 
eyes wandered hungrily to the inclosure. When 
the park was behind her and she had turned 



into the avenue beyond, her eyes were blurred 
so that she could hardly have seen her, had 
they met face to face. Her poor little dreams 
were all broken now ; she could never brave 
the fire or the wild horses, and they would 
never skip together across the sweet meadows 
of summer-time. The tears came faster and 
faster until they were streaming down her cheeks, 
and she would have cried aloud had there been 
nobody to see her. Perhaps because of her 
sorrow, she did not realize or see that she was at 
the Twenty-third Street crossing — that terrible 
crossing where trolley-cars and carriages and 
heavy teams are mingling and crowding all 
day long. Millie does not remember now. She 
only remembers that suddenly she heard a 
piercing scream, and then felt a hand — not a 
big, heavy hand, but a hand small and light — 
seize her arm and pull her aside and back to 
the pavement, while she clutched the baby and 
the dinner-pail, and saw, through her tears, a 
crowded, clanging car sweep by, the motor- 
man wildly twisting at the brake, the pas- 
sengers straining to see. The light hand still 
clutched her arm, and, faint and trembling, Mil- 
lie turned to thank the one who had saved her 
life and baby's. Then she gave a little heart-cry. 

"Oh, it was you! It was you who did it! 
Oh, I did so want it to be me / " 

From the excitement and shock of it all, 
she felt weak and began to totter. Perhaps 
she would have fallen, but the grim one who 
stood on the pavement just behind took the 
baby, who did not seem to know that any- 
thing was wrong, and laid her other hand on 
Millie's shoulder, while the dainty one took the 
pail and still held fast to Millie's arm. 

" We will take you home," she said. " You 
must tell us where you live." 

" But I cannot — I cannot go home until I 
have taken my father his dinner. I can go 
now all right. I thank you — yes, of course 
I thank you. But oh, I wanted it to be the 
other way ! " And Millie's eyes were stream- 
ing again. 

They did not understand. The grim one 
said : " We will go with you to where your 
father works. I suppose it is not very far away." 

It was no use to protest. The grim one was 

quite stern, and even the dainty one was firm. 
And the grim one carried baby on one side, 
and the dainty one swung the pail on the 
other, while Millie walked between. It was 
seven blocks, and the two questioned her, as 
they walked, about her home, and her mother, 
and all. And they were so friendly, even the 
grim one, that Millie told them everything. 
And then the dainty one, who said her name 
was Ellen, told her how, a year before, she 
had lost a little baby brother, who had loved 
to cuddle down to her shoulder just as baby 
always did on Millie's; and how she had loved 
to meet them because of that. Then, being 
near to where her father was waiting, they gave 
her the baby and the pail and said good-by. 

But that evening a carriage came into the 
crowded East Side street, and a fine gentleman 
climbed the narrow dark stairs that led to John 
Fredlin's two poor but neat rooms. He was 
Ellen's father, he said, and when John Fredlin 
tried to thank him for the bravery of his little 
daughter in saving two dear lives, he only 
laughed and said that Ellen was always doing 
things for people, and told how they had to 
send the grim one with her to keep her from 
bringing home every baby she saw. And then 
he said that he had a home in the country 
where Ellen was going for the summer. Then 
he added that a gardener was needed out there, 
and he wondered if John Fredlin would take 
the place. His country home was on Long 
Island Sound, he said, with big green fields and 
woods, and the boats always sailing by. And 
he said that Ellen, being the only child, some- 
times found it rather lonely out there, and 
would be glad to have Millie and baby for com- 
pany. Would they go ? 

And Millie, who sat near, thought this must 
be really a dream. Why, it was as if she and 
not the dainty one had been the hero. It was 
always the other way in the stories. 

Dear Millie, it is like a dream indeed — a 
pretty, sunny cottage above the water, your 
mother well and singing at her work, and baby 
tumbling in the grass. And here is Ellen at 
the gate, bringing a new toy to baby, and ready 
for a romp across the green meadows. Yes, it 
is like a dream, a sweet dream come true. 

It is not the sight of mere numbers that in- 
terests us as the " gathering swallows twitter in 
the skies," but rather the gathering itself, and 
the twittering — the feeling of kinship and com- 
mon interest which we see in their flocking. 
They are apparently social creatures ; and social 
feelings are human. By so much are we and 
the swallows one. 

It is a very pleasing quality in bird nature, this 
friendliness which leads them to flock; and it 
seems sometimes to be a deeper, more human 
feeling than mere bird-of-a-feather interest — 
something close akin to friendship. 

The autumn nocking of the swallows and the 
blackbirds, while far from meaning friendship, 
means a great deal more indeed than polite 
sociability, a drawing-room gathering. 

There seem to be such functions in birddom. 
A very select and unspotted company of crows 
in my neighborhood meet frequently throughout 
late summer and in the autumn, for no other 
reason, apparently, than the pleasure of one 
another's society. They are as decorous as 
they are select, usually, though not always. 

One day I will see them sitting about in the 
top of a great solitary white oak beyond the 
meadow and talking quietly. Gossip running 
short, they adjourn to the meadow below for an 
equally quiet feed along the little river. An- 
other day I will hear them boisterously caw- 
cawing in a very gale of good time. There is 
fun a-wing. Somebody is " it." Suddenly into 
the air they scatter, and up, in the tumbling, 
whirling confusion of some game, all cawing at 
the top of their lungs. I am not versed in crow 

sports, but this looks and sounds very much like 
the joyous pandemonium of a college football 
contest. On yet another day the loud cawing 
will be furious and angry. Anybody can tell 
when a crow is angry. If I wait, now, I am 
pretty certain to see the whole elect company 
drumming a red-tailed hawk or a blundering 
barred owl out of the neighborhood. 

They are an exclusive lot, these corbies, and 
highly sociable. As far as I can make out, 
however, they flock for the mere pleasure of it. 
They are friendly, but hardly show real friend- 

It is somewhat different with the swallows 
and many of the migrants. The same friendly 
class feelings draw the swallows together as 
draw the crows. A swallow is a swallow. But 
migrating swallows are often not all of one 
feather. I have frequently seen barn, bank, 
and tree swallows together, and with them, in 
one moving flock, king-birds, martins, swifts, 
and chippies. All of these, in a general way, 
were of the same mind, liking and disliking the 
same things. But, what was far more, at these 
migration-times they were all of the same pur- 
pose : all going a journey, a journey full of hard- 
ships and pleasures, common alike to every one 
upon the road. 

In traveling this long unguarded highway 
mere feather distinctions are likely to disappear. 
Mutual need and good-fellowship prevail. It 
is enough to be a bird, any kind of a well- 
disposed bird, going this southern journey. For 
how does one migrating bird differ from an- 
other ? He does not sing now, nor wear his 




fine feathers, nor do 
a hundred things that 
in the summer made him 
sufficient unto himself. He 
just travels, and takes what' 
comes, and the more to 
share it all, the merrier. A com- 
mon interest draws them to- ~ 
gether. They are not a flock, but 
a company ; not swallows and swifts 
merely: they are bird pilgrims, of 
many feathers. 

Perhaps this camaraderie of the pil- 
grimage never reaches down to real 
friendship. But what about that fellow- 
feeling which is brought out by the stress 
of winter ? This must come very near 
to friendship. A lean, hungry winter 
makes close comrades among the birds. 
They will all flock then. The only soli- 
tary, defiant bird I meet in the winter is 
the great northern shrike. What a fro- 
ward, stiff-necked sinner he is ! But how 
superb! No cheeping, no cowering, no 
huddling together for him. How I hate 
and admire him ! 

But birds that have hearts in their 
breasts, though they were as foreigners to 
one another in the summer, nesting in re- 
gions far apart, will flock during the long 
deep snows and hard weather. Every winter 
I see mixed bands of goldfinches, juncos, and 
tree-sparrows whirling over the snow, the gold- 
finches leading — all of them in search of grass 
and seedy weed-heads. Chickadees, kinglets, 

and nuthatches will yank-yank, tee-tee, andj>/iee- 
he-be by the hour together, apparently to their 
great consolation and mutual support. 

This misery-made companionship, though 
real and helpful at the time, is doubtless not 
quite self-forgetful enough to be called friendship! A 
goaded friendship must lack much of friendship's virtue. 

Of a different quality entirely seems the feeling that 
holds the broods of certain birds together in a real, in- 
timate family life. Family life among the birds ? We 
usually think of the nestlings as being led out by the pa- 
rent birds and fed until they learn to forage for themselves, 
then scattering, each going its separate way. And 
so most nestlings do. But there are exceptions. In 
some bird families the young grow up together, leav- 
ing neither parents nor home neighborhood until they 
mate and build homes of their own. Every covey of 
quail is such a family ; so, too, I think, is every 
flock of chickadees. Every wedge of wild geese 
is a small neighborhood of such families. 

One dare not let his fancy free with the 
thought of such a life. It is too dangerously 
beautiful. What intimacies, what brother-love 
and mother-love, what human home scenes, 
could one not imagine ? Not wholly imagine, 
either. More than one tender passage I have 
actually seen and heard. 

And so have hundreds of observers, doubtless. 
For who has not listened to a mother quail 
calling her hunted family together when the 
snow and the night were falling ? It is most 
sweetly, tenderly human — the little mother, 
standing upon the fence or in the snow of 
the silent fields, calling softly through the 
storm until the young ones answer and, one 
by one, come hurrying to her out of the 

dusk, and murmuring. Some of them do 
They have been frightened far 
away. Louder 
now she whis- 
tles : whir-rl-Ie, 
whir- r- rle - le, 
But there is only 
the faint purr of 
only darkness 
and the si- 
lent ghost- 
ly fields. 




Like little children the covey will sometimes 
dream or be disturbed by some sound half 
heard in their sleep. I have been near when 
the mother soothed them. A covey lives down 
the bushy hillside, just beneath the house. 
Coming up from the meadow one September 
night, I passed close to their roost, and stopped 
in the moonlight just beyond. Off across the 
meadow the hounds were baying on the trail of 
a fox. They were coming fast toward me. As 
they broke into the open on the hills beyond the 
meadow, I heard a movement among the quails, 
then a low murmuring. The cry of the hounds 
was disturbing the brood; they were uneasy 
and restless : and the mother was stilling their 
fears, murmuring something low and soft to re- 
assure them. 

They quieted at once ; and it was well. A 
moment later, up the narrow path by the side of 
which they were sleeping trotted the fox. Upon 
seeing me he paused, and so close to them that 

their slightest stir would have been caught by 
his keen, quick ears. 

So throughout the winter and far into the 
spring they live together, an intimate, happy 
family — more intimate and happier, perhaps, 
than many human families. For see what a 
number of children there are ! It is significant, 
is it not, that only large bird families apparently 
know the joy of family life ? 

Even here among the quail there may be no 
real love and friendship, no affection, no sharing 
among the children. But there must be true 
mother-love in the breast of such a mother bird 
as this. Then why not in the children ? 

Interpret it as we please, with or without sen- 
timent, we cannot deny the existence of this 
family life among the birds. 

The need of guidance, of food and protec- 
tion, may explain it in the case of the migrat- 
ing geese ; but this is not enough for the quail 
and chickadee families. 


By W. C. M'Clelland. 

The crow made the announcement, 

And the owl with his " tu-whoo," 

That the birds should come 

At the pheasant's drum, 

And the woodpecker's " tat-tattoo," 

His echoing, loud tattoo. 

From the four winds of heaven, 

As the summoning notes rang clear, 

They flew to a wood 

Where a great oak stood, 

And a titmouse whistled, " Here, here ! " 

Whistled and shouted, " Here ! " 

The bluebird sang full soft and low, 
And trembled with delight, 
Till one bird shouted, 
And another called " Bob White " ; 
'T was the partridge called " Bob White." 

The robin sang with all his might, 
But the jay-bird shrieked his jeers ; 
Said the sea-mew, 
" This will not do," 
But the redbird said, " Three cheers, three 

cheers ! " 
But the redbird said, " Three cheers! " 

The catbird ventured an olio, 
In phrase and rhythm neat ; 
Said a bird in blue, 
" Omit the ' mew,' " 
But the sparrow thought it sweet; 
Its words were " Sweet, sweet, sweet ! " 

The thrush sang a hymn so tenderly 
That it thrilled the listening skies ; 
Hear the judges now 
From every bough : 
" Give the bonny brown thrush the prize, 
Give the bonny brown thrush the prize ! " 

FEW hundred yearsago, 
in a country called Ger- 
many, there was a village 
known as Grosshufelten, 
which was on a lake. The 
lake is so small that I have 
=sT forgotten its name, and you will 
I not find the village on any map 
of the country, — which is still called Germany, 
— unless it is on the back, where I did n't look. 
The people in this village were greatly an- 
noyed by a robber baron who dwelt on a 
mountain near by, and who was in the habit of 
levying tribute on them because he did n't like 
to work. The last time that he told them they 
must pay what he called their annual dues, they 
refused to do so. The baron was greatly sur- 
prised, — as people are usually surprised when 
others refuse to do things that they have been 
in the habit of doing whether they ought to or 
not, — and he resolved to punish the villagers. 
At first he thought of descending on them 
with his band and burning their houses; but 
this would have required effort, so he changed 
his mind and called before him two magicians 
whom he kept to do things by magic, which he 
found more easy than doing them by hand. 

One of these magicians was a good man who 
stayed with the robber only because he was 
afraid to go away. The other was a bad man 
who stayed for no particular reason. 

" 1 am resolved," said the baron, " to kill all 
the people in Grosshufelten, because they will 
not do what I decree." 

"That seems very natural," said the bad 

" I now wish to learn the easiest way of doing 
it," continued the robber. 

" That, also, seems very natural," said the 
good magician. 

The bad magician suggested a number of 
methods, none of which the baron liked, and 
he finally told him that he could take a half- 
holiday, and he would consult with the good 
magician, who worked for less money, anyhow. 

" If you are bound to do this thing, the best 
way will be to do it quickly and painlessly," 
began the good magician. 

" You mean the best way for them," said the 

" Yes, and for you," answered the magician; 
" for then they will have no chance to conceal 
their treasures, and you can get as many of 
them as you wish." 

" Who will carry the treasures back ? " the 
baron asked anxiously. 

" You might make the bad magician do that." 

The good magician then proposed a plan. 
Leading from the mountain to the lake was a 
passage which was subterranean. (That is a 
rather long word, but it was a rather long 
passage.) He suggested that through this tunnel 





he send some poisonous gas he had invented, 
which he usually used for killing potato-bugs. 
This gas would come up through the lake, be 
blown into the village, and overcome the people. 
The good magician did not like this idea, but 
he knew it was more humane than anything the 
bad magician would suggest, and thought he 
might get a chance to warn the villagers before 
it was carried out, so that they could escape. 
The robber baron was delighted with the 
scheme, and, telling the magician to execute it 
as soon as he could, he proceeded to take his 
afternoon nap, sleeping that kind of sleep which 
comes to the unjust. 

As soon as the good magician was sure that 
the baron was sound asleep, he started the gas 
down the passage, and then hurried to warn the 
villagers. This happened on Wednesday, the 
day on which the people of Grosshufelten made 
soap, and when he arrived he found a number 
of them on the shore of the lake, washing out 
their soap-kettles. Just as the magician started 
to warn them of their danger, the gas began to 
rise. The water was rather soapy, and when the 
vapor rose it formed an enormous bubble that 
covered half of the lake. 

The villagers were greatly astonished, and 
looked at the bubble with their mouths open 
and their minds closed. The magician, who 
made his living by thinking, began to consider 
the matter. In the first place, he knew that 
if the robber baron found that he had warned 
the people he would be very angry, and there 
was no telling what he would do — there was 
no telling what he would do when he was n't 
angry. In the next place, the wind might 
blow the gas away from the village when the 
bubble burst. At all events, the magician 
would have time to think, and he might devise 
some plan for saving the villagers without mak- 
ing the baron angry. 

While he was considering these things, a youth 
named Hans Spratzleberger-and-a-few-other- 
syllables ran to the shore with his bow and 

" What are you going to do with that?" asked 
the magician. 

" I 'm going to shoot that big bubble, out 
there, and see it burst," said Hans. 

" Do you know what will happen if you do 

that ? " inquired the magician. " This town 
will disappear from the map." 

Hans, who did n't know that the town was n't 
on the map, was much impressed. The vil- 
lagers, many of whom did n't know what a map 
was, advised him not to shoot. 

While they were watching the bubble, the 
bad magician, who was taking his half-holiday, 
approached. "What is that ? " he asked. They 
told him. " Who blew it? " he added. 

" ' When in the course of human events,' " — 
said Hans, who was very fond of making fine 

The bad magician looked at Hans with in- 
terest. " You are wasting your talents here," 
he said. " If you will come with me I will 
train you so that you will become an orator. 
What is your name ? " Hans told him all of it. 

" Well," said the bad magician, " if you can 
remember all of your name, you certainly must 
have a good memory; and that will be an 
advantage to you in your oratory." 

Hans's parents, who now regarded the bubble 
as a good omen, did not want to have it de- 
stroyed ; and when the other villagers learned 
that he would practise oratory somewhere else, 
they decided to let it remain for a time. 

The good magician returned to the mountain, 
and told the robber baron what had taken 
place. The baron was far from pleased. 

" This is what comes of using so much soap," 
he said. When the bad magician arrived with 
Hans, the baron was still less pleased. " Any 
speech-making that is to be done on this moun- 
tain I can do myself," he declared. " As for 
you," he added, turning to the good magician, 
" you had better go back to Grosshufelten and 
tell the villagers what that bubble is. You can 
take a crossbow, and if they are not willing to 
pay up, burst the bubble. If they are willing, 
burst it after they have paid up." 

" But what will become of me ? " asked the 
good magician. 

" I will think about that to-morrow," said the 
robber baron. 

When the good magician delivered the baron's 
message the villagers were offended. Instead 
of offering to pay their annual dues, they seized 
him and put him in jail. He was perplexed at 
this, as the baron had not told him what to do 




if such a thing should happen. However, as 
his cell window overlooked the lake and he 
could see the bubble, he made the best of 
things, and ate the meals they brought to him. 

The weather was favorable for bubbles, and 
the next morning, when the good magician 
looked out of his window, the big one was still 
there. Large crowds of people were coming 
from the surrounding country to look at it, and 
the villagers were trying to charge them two 
pfennigs apiece. It was hard to collect the 
money, however, as the bubble could be seen 
from any spot on the shore; so that afternoon 
the people decided to fence in the lake. 

The next morning a committee of villagers, 
headed by the burgomaster, called on the good 

"We are much shocked to find a good man 
like yourself associating with robbers," said the 
burgomaster. " We had decided to leave you 
in jail, but having found a way in which you 
can help us to make money, we will release you." 

The magician was overcome by their kind- 
ness. He thanked them, but said he could not 
see how the money would benefit them if the 
bubble happened to burst. 

" We will run that risk," said the burgomaster. 
" With that robber baron in the neighborhood, 
we are so used to risks that we don't mind 
them. We want you to put a magic fence 
around the lake, as it will take our people too 
long to build the one they began this morning." 

The magician had n't his wand with him, so 
he borrowed the burgomaster's cane, waved it a 
few times, and a fence appeared around the lake. 
But as most of the country folk who lived near 
by had already seen the bubble, this fence was 
of little use. The burgomaster thought for a 
while, and suggested that the magician turn the 
gas in the bubble red. He did this, and that 
afternoon some of the villagers went out in the 
country with a banner on which was printed : 

See the Great Red Bubble of Grosshufelten ! 

Admission, 4 Pfennigs. 

Near-sighted People Half-price. 

This attracted a big crowd, and when the 
burgomaster thought the people had looked at 
the bubble long enough, he made a little speech, 

in which he told them that it was filled with 
poison, and was liable to burst at any moment. 
Then they all ran away. The next day the 
magician made the bubble green, the third day 
blue ; and as long as the bubble and the colors 
held out the people kept coming back. 

In the meantime the robber baron was get- 
ting impatient, not only because Hans was 
learning oratory, but because he heard nothing 
from Grosshufelten. He called the bad magician 
to him and told him that if he could not suggest 
some way to bring the villagers to terms he 
should be thrown into the bubble. The bad 
magician was greatly alarmed at the baron's 
threat, and thought as hard as he could, which 
was not very hard. At last he suggested that 
the baron and his band go to the opposite side 
of the lake, shoot the bubble, and allow the gas 
to float over Grosshufelten. Then, when the 
villagers were overcome, they could take their 
treasures, which he would transport to the 
mountain by magic. The baron thought it 
would be easier to do it all by magic, but the 
bad magician said he was not clever enough to 
arrange a spell for that; besides, there would 
be the sport for the baron of shooting the 

The next day, the baron, his band, and the 
bad magician appeared opposite Grosshufelten, 
and saw nothing but a big fence. They were 
rather disappointed, but climbed some trees and 
got a view of the bubble, which was then 
chrome-yellow. The baron took a crossbow 
and prepared to shoot. 

But meanwhile the good magician — who 
was much pleased at living among honest peo- 
ple — had not been idle. He had devised an 
enormous bellows, and when he saw the baron 
aim his crossbow at the bubble, he told the vil- 
lagers to get ready to blow it. 

The baron fired a bolt which struck the 
bubble. It burst, and as the gas rose from it 
the villagers blew the bellows with great force, 
and the vapor floated over among the trees 
where the baron was. 

So far as I know, this was the last of that 
robber baron and his band, and also of the 
bad magician ; but Hans, who had stayed be- 
hind at the mountain, became a mighty orator. 

Betmet Musson. 


By Henry Johnstone. 

I 'm older than the oldest man, 
I 'm older than the oldest tree ; 

When day and night at first began, 
Both day and night belong'd to me. 

The sunrise and the setting moon 
Are marks that measure out my way, 

I travel through the heat of noon, 
And for the dark make no delay. 

All things that change are changed by me, 
Yet I myself unchanged abide ; 

Although my face you cannot see, 
You find my work on every side. 

I shape the bud upon the shoot, 
And, through a never-ending round 

Bring bud to flower, and flower to fruit, 
And strew the fruit upon the ground. 

My hands accomplish tasks untold, 
My aching feet ask rest in vain; 

My name is known to young and old, 
But who shall make my nature plain ? 



1 W.-i.Avu^m 


and their VV7\j0 6y^(Jeovje (StAefiettlDakk 

The United States mails are carried every- 
where. It would be almost a physical impossi- 
bility for a man to hide himself in any remote 
corner of the world without being discovered 
at last by some insignificant agent of a world- 
wide service the machinery of which operates 
quietly and with clock-like regularity. If a 
bird's-eye view of the different railroad and 
steamship lines which carry the mails could be 
taken, the giant spider's web thus formed would 
appear woven in a pattern so intricate that the 
mind would balk at the mere suggestion of 
unraveling it. And besides the regular steam- 
ship and railroad threads of this maze would 
appear tens of thousands of cross-lines, repre- 
senting pony routes, dog-and-sled tracks, swift 
courier and runner " trails," and even reindeer, 
whaling-ship, and canoe lines. Every sort of 
vehicle and beast of burden, and nearly every 
invention of man for quick transportation, have 
been pressed into the postal service, and it is 
possible for a letter to go around the world 

under conditions so strange that the mere his- 
tory of its journey would form a story of thrilling 

If a man should start from New York, and 
travel northward to Alaska, then down the coast 
to California and take ship to Manila, and fol- 
low the lines of travel to Hongkong, to Singa- 
pore, to Canton, to Tokio, to Vladivostok, 
to St. Petersburg, to Vienna, to London, to 
South Africa, and finally to South America, 
touching on the way at several Pacific and 
South Atlantic islands, and thence back to 
his starting-point, he could travel a distance 
several times greater than the circumference of 
the globe. If he ordered his mail forwarded to 
him, and left correct addresses behind at each 
place, the letters would dutifully follow him, 
and finally be delivered to him in New York a 
few days after his own arrival there. All that 
he would have to pay extra for this remarkable 
journey of his mail would be a dollar or two in 
tolls, which would represent the charges for 

4 6 



forwarding exacted by some of the countries 
through which it passed. There is in the Post- 
office Department at Washington the envelope 
of a letter which traveled in this way one hun- 
dred and fifty thousand 
miles, and another which 
came safely through a trip 
of one hundred and twenty- 
five thousand miles. Both 
are marked and stamped in 
a way to baffle any except 
a very expert decipherer of 

Next to accuracy in de- 
livering mail to the proper 
person, the government em- 
phasizes promptness and 
speed of transportation. In 
our own populous territory 
this is obtained by intense 
competition between rival 
railroad lines and steamers. Every one is familiar 
with the fast mail-trains and steamships. Their 
speed and equipment for fast sorting and deliv- 
ery form a part of the history of our Post-office 
Department's rapid evolution. But there are 
portions of the globe where there are no railroad 
trains nor fast steamships, and yet mails have to 
be delivered as speedily as conditions will per- 
mit. When once the letters are delivered into the 
hands of foreign mail servants, our government 
has no further control beyond selecting the 
route, and they must be intrusted to the doubt- 
ful hands of others outside of the department ; 
but along the tens of thousands of miles of mail 
lines there is a sharp and constant supervision 
maintained over the adventures of the humblest 
and most insignificant letter. Its speed and 
safety are watched, and, if it is lost, somebody is 
called to account for it. Even if it is unduly 
detained at any particular point, the delay must 
be explained. 

The unwritten history of this little-known 
portion of our mail service forms a mass of 
romantic adventures. The pony express and 
mail-coach may have disappeared from the 
great West, but it is really in existence to-day in 
stranger and more romantic form than ever. 
Civilization has merely pushed the frontier lines 
outward; but the outskirts are there, and the 


letters of Uncle Sam are carried, as formerly, by 
pony, coach, sled, boat, and mountain-climbers 
and fast runners. We spend some ten millions 
of dollars a year more than any other country 
in the world in carrying our 
mails, and most of this ex- 
cessive expenditure goes to 
pay for the unremunerative 
work of delivering mail on 
the outskirts of civilization. 
In spite of Russia's great 
size and England's remark- 
able efficiency in handling 
her mails, the mail routes of 
the United States are some 
315,000 miles longer than 
those of any other country, 
and we employ some 8000 
more workmen to handle 
them, and have fully 30,000 
more post-offices. 
The restless, continuous movement of the 
mails over the face of the earth, binding all 
nations and islands and continents together, 
suggests the even flow and ebb of the tides, 
working without apparent effort or strain to 
accomplish each day the allotted task necessary 
for the best results. Night and day the ma- 
chinery works. The sun never sets on the army 
of employees. Color, creed, and politics have 
less influence on their work than we imagine. A 
score of nationalities and races are represented 
among the faithful workmen. Up in Alaska 
the postman may be an Indian, an Eskimo, 
a typical American, or a naturalized European. 
Over the four thousand odd miles of mail route 
the dog-sled, skates, snow-shoes, and reindeer 
express are frequently responsible for carrying 
and delivering the mail. The solitary mail- 
carrier in the Arctic travels up snow-clad moun- 
tains, crosses rivers of ice, and swims rushing 
currents where his canoe is dashed to pieces. 
The necessity of delivering the mails safely and 
on time stimulates some of the unique mail- 
carriers to perform acts of heroism that equal 
anything recorded in history. Rather than 
abandon the mails to seek safety from blizzards 
or washouts, the faithful postmen of the North 
have allowed themselves to be frozen in snow- 
drifts, with death staring them in the face. They 

! 9°3-] 



risk life and limb almost daily, in fording rivers 
and in climbing icy mountains. Their hope of 
reward is slight indeed, and few ever imagine 
that their heroic actions will even be reported 
at Washington. But Uncle Sam is appreciative 
of such faithfulness, and up in the dim light of 
the Arctic a letter occasionally finds its way 
which brings pride and happiness to some 
humble postman. To be thanked by the Post- 
office Department at Washington is an honor 
which surpasses money rewards, and framed 
letters of this character may be seen occasion- 
ally in the most remote corners of that cold, 
frozen region of the world. 

When the interior mails reach the coast, a 
whaling-ship or some steam fishing-craft may 
take the sacks of letters and papers, and then, 
with prow pointed toward the north pole, 
steam day and night for weeks. Far up in the 
Bering Strait, and beyond into the arctic 
circle, the mail goes. A group of half-frozen 
sealers on some deserted island may receive a 
portion of it, bringing them good cheer and 
encouragement from friends and relatives a 
thousand miles away. A dog-team or a swift 
human runner may await the whaler or fishing 
mail-boat, and with a dozen letters he may rush 
across the frozen ice-fields until nearly exhausted, 
simply to deliver the epistles to a camp of ex- 
plorers and scientists, or a small village settlement. 
In the glow of the dim oil-lamps or spluttering 
blubber the recipients read the letters and news- 
papers eagerly, anxiously, and sometimes fear- 
fully. What news of the great world below do 
they bring? What hope or despair do they 
reveal to the men laboring and toiling in a cli- 
mate which seems almost cold enough to con- 
geal the very blood in the veins ? 

To take a flight in time and distance to the 
other extreme of the mail service, we find an- 
other army of faithful postmen, carrying their 
packages up tropical rivers into swamps more 
poisonous than a pest-house; across gulfs and 
bays where the typhoon and hurricane swamp 
and wreck boats and houses; up steep moun- 
tain-sides to towns and villages where vegeta- 
tion can hardly subsist; or through swamp trails 
which lead to impenetrable interiors where 
white men rarely travel. In all this work men, 
beasts, and strange craft are employed to make 

the mails as regular and speedy in their trans- 
mission as possible. Our ideas of rapid transit, 
however, do not always prevail in these south- 
ern latitudes. There is a mail service up the 
Amazon River in South America which requires 
just one week to cover five miles. The steamer 
is a small side-wheeler, but she stops on the way 
at many points to pick up cargoes to make her 
trip profitable. Sometimes she will wait a day 
for a gang of natives to finish skinning their ani- 
mals, so the hides can form a part of the freight, 
or, again, it may be a party of white hunters on 
their way down the river who will ask the cap- 
tain to wait a couple of days. A five-dollar bill 
would induce the captain to hold up the boat 
for twice that length of time. It is of no use 
for the Post-office Department to complain, for 
there is no other way of getting the mails up to 
the few towns and villages, and so the owner of 

the side-wheel- 
er enjoys a mo- 
nopoly which 
enables him to 
defy all the gov- 
ernment post- 
office depart- 
ments in the 

There is an- 
other route up 
the river, by 
land, but, owing 
to the nature 
of the country, 
it would be nec- 
essary for a run- 
\ ner to travel 
several scores 
of miles, it is 
said, in order 
to cover the 
five-mile route. 
There are mail routes which Uncle Sam at- 
tends to only spasmodically, and others which 
are traversed by the mail-steamers only twice a 
year. In the South Atlantic and Pacific oceans 
there are small islands which are laid down on 
the post-office maps as in the path of the mail 
routes, but they are marked to signify that the 
mails are irregularly delivered. At certain dis- 


4 8 



tributing-points the government officers are 
ready to despatch mail-sacks by the first steamer 
which sails there. Sometimes the mail is deliv- 
ered twice a month, and again no ship of any 
character touches at the islands for six months. 
It does not pay a steamer or sailing-vessel to 
visit these out-of-the-way islands to carry the 
mails, but if they have a cargo of goods to de- 
liver there, they are willing to take the extra 
compensation offered by the government for 
taking the few sacks of mail. 

One of the strangest mail-carriers in Uncle 
Sam's employ is a dog which faithfully carries 
the letters and papers from the post-office on the 
Yukon River to a smaller office five miles away. 
Sometimes the river is open, when the dog 
swims it, and other times it is covered with ice 
and a blinding snow-storm obstructs the way. 
But the dog carries the small canvas sack fas- 
tened to his collar back and forth every day, and 
in the five years he has been in the service he 
has not once missed a mail. 

The most northern post-office in the world is 
Uncle Sam's at Point Barrow, where mail is 
delivered at the nearest approach to the north 
pole ever before attempted. Both whaling-ships 
and reindeer, as well as dog-teams, carry some 
of this mail to the most northern of our post- 
offices. Sometimes it is a long time getting 
there. Once the mails while carried by dog- 
teams were snowed under for a week in one of 
the worst places of the route ; but none of the 
letters or papers were lost. The driver simply 
camped under the snow with his dogs, and, 
between the covering of the snow and the 
warmth of the animals' bodies, the driver man- 
aged to survive the ordeal and come forth after 
the storm no worse than before he met his 

Hidden away in the frozen North, men will 
write letters to friends or relatives in the civ- 
ilized parts of the country. Then for days and 
weeks they will watch and wait for the post- 
man. This man does not call around and 
knock at their ice huts for the mail ; neither are 
there convenient mailing-boxes or post-offices. 
But the letters must reach their destination in 
some way. For days and weeks the lonely in- 
habitants of the frozen coast watch for signs of 
a ship. When one appears they put forth in 

their frail boats to hail her, but disappointment 
follows. The ship is bound north after seals or 
whales, and will not return for a year. Another 
one is hailed, and the same story is repeated. 
Finally one is found which is bound southward, 
but not for the country where the letter is to go. 
The ship is going to Norway, Russia, or Eng- 
land. But that does not matter. The letter 
intended for somebody in New York is handed 
over, with the proper postage on it. The ship 
may collect a score or more letters in this way 
on its trip southward, and then, when it meets 
another ship, the two exchange letters. The 
second one is not going farther south than 
Labrador, but it crosses the path of ships bound 
for the United States, and the mails for this 
country are turned over to her. She, in her turn, 
may pass a ship bound for some northern Cana- 
dian point, and once more the mails are shifted. 
Finally an American steamer or sailing-vessel is 
hailed bound for some United States port, and 
the mails from the arctic region are handed over 
to her captain, and they are duly brought here 
and posted to their destination. 

All this work is done as a matter of courtesy 
to each other, and not for pay; but ships bound 
northward are engaged by the government to 
carry the mails to certain specific points. It 
would be a pretty surly and unobliging captain 
who would refuse to accept letters from these 
far-away northern inhabitants to mail for them 
at the first convenient point. There are numer- 
ous post-offices of Uncle Sam's established at 
various points in the far north where ships col- 
lect mail matter for delivery. Regular steamers 
or government cruisers and revenue cutters call 
at these points several times a year, and bring 
the mail down with them. 

The question of securing postage-stamps in 
these out-of-the-way corners is not always easy 
of solution. The isolated sailors or sealers may 
have no stamps in their possession, and they have 
to send their letters without these necessary 
articles; but there is hardly a ship that sails 
north whose captain does not carry in stock 
postage-stamps of the one- and two-cent denomi- 
nations. These he places on the letters when the 
men hand them over to him, and he thus acts as 
a sort of postmaster of his own appointment. 
But the government cannot hold such a person 




'they put forth in frail boats to hail her." 

to account for losing or refusing to mail a letter, that very few such letters fail to be delivered. 

It is a risk that the owner of the letter takes. It takes a long time occasionally for a letter 

If it goes astray, nothing more can be done to come down, but it eventually finds its way 

about the matter. But it is a remarkable fact to its proper place. 


By Ellen Manly. 

'T is quite a straight and easy road 
That leads to Grumbletown, 

And those who wish can always find 
A chance to journey down. 

'T is customary for the trip 

To choose a rainy day — 
When weather 's fine one 's not so apt 

To care to go that way. 

Just keep down Fretful Lane until 
You come to Sulky Stile, 
Vol. XXXI.— 7. 

Where travelers often like to rest 
In silence for a while. 

And then cross over Pouting Bridge, 
Where Don't Care Brook flows down, 

And just a little way beyond 
You come to Grumbletown. 

From what I learn, this Grumbletown 

Is not a pleasant place : 
One never hears a cheerful word, 

Or sees a smiling face ; 



The children there are badly spoiled 
And sure to fret and tease, 

And all the grown-up people, too, 
Seem cross and hard to please. 

The weather rarely is just right 

In this peculiar spot ; 
'T is either raining all the time, 

Or else too cold, or hot. 

The books are stupid as can be ; 

The games are dull and old ; 
There 's nothing new and nothing nice 

In Grumbletown, I 'm told. 

And so I 've taken pains, my dears, 

The easiest road to show, 
That you may all be very sure 

You never, never go ! 


By James Clarence Harvey. 

How long do you think the story of " The 
Daring Froggy," which appeared in the August 
St. Nicholas, waited before it found its way to 
the light ? 

Just to show you how carefully St. Nicho- 
las looks out for its readers, I want to tell you 
the story of that little frog. 

We will begin in the usual way : Once upon 
a time there was a small boy who thought he 
was carrying the burdens of the world because 
he could not have his own way in many things 
which his parents thought were not good for 

So the wilful boy ran away from home and 
went to a big city to earn his living. The big 
city happened to be New Haven, Connecticut, 
where he had to cross the green in front of the 
Yale College buildings in going to and from 
his place of business. 

The students with their books made him 
wish to get an education ; but as he was getting 
only three dollars and a half a week, and paid 
three for his board, it seemed away beyond his 

One day he learned that at Middlebury, Ver- 
mont, the same course of study as at Yale was 
followed, and feeling sure that he could find 
something to do, he began to save small sums 
from odd jobs and night-work until he had 
enough to pay the fare to Middlebury. 

He reached the town at two o'clock one 
Sunday morning, with just two cents left in his 

How he went to the hotel and offered his 

watch to the proprietor for his lodging, and 
how he found a widow lady who kept student 
boarders and wanted some one to tend the 
steam furnace that heated the house, and how 
he prepared for college, and how he helped to 
pay his way by taking some prizes, would make 
a long story, but it all leads up to the time 
when, sitting by the furnace in the cellar, he 
said to himself: 

" I must rise above sifting ashes and shovel- 
ing coal if I ever expect to make anything of 
myself in the world." 

So he began to send verses to the newspapers 
and magazines, and among the first to be ac- 
cepted was "The Daring Froggy," which you 
saw in the August number of St. Nicholas. 

Since that was accepted the small boy has 
grown up and has been in almost every coun- 
try in the world. He has only just come back 
from the wonderful Orient, which seemed so far 
away that he could never dream of seeing it, 
but which is now a beautiful memory of color 
and strange people and stranger customs. 

He has written ten books, and has found life 
happy and prosperous, and possibly it has all 
come out this way because St. Nicholas sent 
him a check and encouraged him rather than 
a rejection which might have discouraged him 
and kept him sifting ashes all his life. 

In all these years he has never forgotten, and 
he never will forget, how he felt when he 
opened that St. Nicholas envelope, twenty 
years ago, and the generous check fell out into 
his hands and almost took his breath away. 


By Lilian Palmer Powers. 

Buffy 's my dog — and every day we, 
With my three boy-dolls, take afternoon tea : 
Rob Roy is gay in his tartan plaid ; 
Bobby Shafto 's not bad, as a sailor-lad, 
And Jack — the midshipmite, trim and neat, 
Is under the table in lowly seat. 
Now, as dolls are not really alive, 
Buffy and I have to eat for the five ; 
But we play so hard and romp about 
That both our appetites hold out ; 
Sometimes we 've bread with our cambric tea, 
Sometimes nursey brings nice things to me; 
But if it 's crackers, or just a bun, 
We eat it all up and have lots of fun. 
Buff wags his tail and smiles at me ; 
I tell him my secrets and pour the tea. 


( The Story of a Crusader Knight. ) 

By Livingston B. Morse. 

The Crusades 
were holy wars 
undertaken by 
knights of old 
in Europe for 
the recovery of 
the sepulcher of 
Christ from the 
Saracens who then 
held Jerusalem 
and all Palestine. 
They were called 
Crusaders from 
the Latin word 
crux, which means 
cross, and because 
each of the sol- 
diers wore upon his sleeve or breast or shoulder 
the embroidered figure of a cross to indicate the 
cause for which he fought. There were eight of 
these Crusades, or holy wars. But the story I 
am going to tell you belongs to the third — that 
one in which Richard I of England, called, for 
his famed strength and bravery, Cceur de Lion, 
or Lion-hearted, plays so prominent a part. 

Although Richard was King of England, he 
had spent the greater part of his life in France ; 
for away back in the twelfth century, when he 
lived, England still held many provinces in 
France — notably those of Normandy and 
Aquitaine. Those were warlike times, and 
Richard was no laggard, I can tell you, where 
blows were to be given and returned. He had 
quarreled with his father and with his brothers, 
John and Geoffrey ; and to make good his 
possessions in Normandy against the King of 
France, he had built him a fortress, Chateau 
Gaillard (Saucy Castle), upon an eminence 
above the Seine, just where the river bends 
across the Norman marshes on its way to the 
old city of Rouen. 

It was on a beautiful morning in autumn 
that, with a great clanging and rattling of chains, 

the drawbridge was lowered over the moat of 
Chateau Gaillard, and a gallant train of mounted 
knights and squires rode forth into the crisp, 
bright air, followed by the huntsmen holding 
their hounds in leash. At the head of the train 
and somewhat in advance, mounted upon a 
coal-black horse, rode a princely figure clothed 
in Lincoln green, — the color of the huntsmen, — 
who wore upon his yellow locks a cap adorned 
with the feather of an eagle held by a jeweled 
brooch. He was taller than any other by a 
good half head; and he sat upon his horse 
straight as a reed and as if the two were one. 
His broad shoulders and steel-blue eyes, 
piercing and fearless, and a certain arrogance 
of bearing, told more plainly than words that 
where'er he went Richard would be leader. " 

The horsemen clattered down the slope, 
their spurs and harness jingling merrily, then, 
putting their horses to the gallop, sped across 
the marshes toward the wood. 

Richard still held the lead, — imperiously 
waving back the knights who would have 
borne him company because they feared some 
accident might befall the king riding thus alone, 
— and putting spurs to his horse, he dashed 
into the forest in pursuit of a noble stag which 
the keen hounds had already scented. Three 
miles and more he rode alone, following the 
baying hounds through beds of fern and bracken 
under the arching trees, when of a sudden his 
horse reared and shied, and then came to a 
standstill before a thicket. 

Richard, with a start, drew rein and scanned 
the tangled growth. At first he could see 
nothing ; then, as his eyes accustomed them- 
selves to the dusk, he descried two figures prone 
upon the ground. In an instant he was off 
his steed, and, with the bridle linked in his left 
arm, pushed his way among the interlacing 
vines to where the bodies lay. One was a man 
of middle age, rough, unkempt, and clad in 
ragged garments — an outlaw or robber without 



doubt, one of those who infested the forest at 
that time. The man was dead — slain by a 
dagger-thrust in the breast. The other was a 
slender youth dressed in the simple yet elegant 
costume of a squire. A 
heavy cloak lay beside 
him on the grass, half 
covering a harp such 
as the troubadours, or 
wandering minstrels, 
carried. His hair was 
long and dark, and fell 
in silken curls about 
a face whose delicate 
features betokened a 
nature refined and sen- 
sitive ; the clear white 
skin and long fingers 
told also of a life passed 
in the gentler pursuits 
of music or of literature 
rather than of arms. 

" 'Sdeath ! " cried 
Richard. " What have 
we here ? Robbery 
and murder ? " 

Dragging aside the 
fern, which half con- 
cealed the face of the 
youth, the king knelt 
beside him and laid his 
hand upon the heart. 
A slight flutter respond- 
ed to his touch. 

" By St. George, the 
boy still lives ! A 
comely lad, forsooth." 

He drew from his 
breast a silver hunting 
whistle and blew three 
long, shrill blasts, then 
bent his head, listening 
impatiently for an an- 
swer. But none re- 
sponded; his suite were 
far behind or wander- 
ing upon other trails. 

" The idle varlets ! " muttered the king. 
" Well, since they take me at my word, and lag 
behind, I '11 e'en play bearer to the lad myself." 

The light burden of the youth was as nothing 
to the king's gigantic strength. He flung him 
lightly over the saddle-bow, then leaped into 
the saddle, and passing an arm about the body 


of the unconscious boy, raised him to a sitting 
posture, and thus supporting him against his 
breast, turned his horse homeward. 




After a little the rushing of the cool wind in 
his face revived the youth, who had been but 
slightly wounded. 

" Where am I ? " he asked — as one who 
wakes from sleep, but without raising himself 
or withdrawing his fascinated gaze from the 
eyes of the king, now smiling into his. 

" Marry, in the lion's keeping," laughed 
Richard, deep in his tawny beard. " Tell me, 
who art thou and how earnest thou in the sorry 
plight in which I found thee ? " 

" My name is Blondel," said the youth, 
" and I am come from Arras. While journeying 
yestere'en through yonder wood I was set upon 
by three rough fellows who demanded of me 
purse or life. My answer was a dagger-thrust 
which did for one, I hope. But at that moment 
I was stricken from behind, and knew no more 
till now. Ah, but my harp ! I had forgotten 
that," he cried sharply, raising himself, then 
falling back with weakness against the king's 
protecting shoulder. 

" Nay, trouble not thyself with that," the king 
replied. " A harp thou shalt have, and a royal 
one, so thou provest thyself worthy of it. Thou 
art a minstrel, then ? " he asked with interest. 

" Ay, truly," said the youth ; " I have a 
pretty talent at that trade. I was but now 
upon my way to seek the English king, who, 
they say, is kind to minstrels, when this mis- 
fortune overtook me. Perchance thou, being, 
as I judge, a lord of high degree, canst tell me 
if I be near to him or no ? " 

" Nearer thou canst not well be," laughed 
Richard. " He who now bears thee in his 
arms is the king himself." 

Blondel would fain have flung himself from 
the saddle to kneel before the Majesty of Eng- 
land, but Richard held him back. 

"Another time," he said. " Harken, now; 
I have a fancy for thee, boy. When thy wound 
is cured, thou shalt make trial of thy skill ; and 
if thy music liketh me as doth thy face, while 
Richard lives thou shalt not want a friend." 

So Blondel was carried by King Richard to 
the castle, where his wound was dressed by the 
king's own physician. 

By and by, when he had rested and re- 
freshed himself, a harp was given him and he 
was led into the royal presence to make trial of 

his skill. Alone he stood there in the center of 
the room, a slender figure, leaning on his harp, 
all unabashed, yet modest, his deep, dark eyes, 
alight with gratitude and love, raised fearlessly 
to the king, before whose piercing glance so 
many quailed. The boy drew his fingers in a 
soft prelude over the strings, then, joining to the 
music a voice of wondrous sweetness, he broke 
into one of those old ballads of love and war so 
dear to the hearts of men of all times. 

Richard, with his passion for music, was en- 
chanted; BlondePs fame was made. Hence- 
forth the king's palace was his home ; and 
there sprang up between the great sovereign and 
his humble follower a beautiful ideal friendship. 
Blondel worshiped his master — his preserver — 
with all the fervor of his artist soul ; and 
Richard loved the boy with that frank gen- 
erosity — too seldom shown, alas ! — which be- 
longed nevertheless to his better nature. 
Wherever he went Blondel must go also ; he 
could not bear that the boy should be for an 
hour absent from his sight, and many were the 
songs that they composed and sang together ; 
for the king himself was no mean musician. 

Time passed, and there came the call to the 
Crusade. Richard, as the most warlike mon- 
arch of Christendom, promptly responded, and 
having gathered many men and much treasure, 
he left his kingdom in the hands of two arch- 
bishops and journeyed southward through 
France to the port of Marseilles, whence he em- 
barked for Messina, the first stopping-place. 
With him, of course, went Blondel, ever by his 
master's side. 

At Cyprus the cortege stopped awhile, and 
there was fighting there; but at length the long 
journey to Palestine was accomplished, and in 
the brave and noble Saladin, the leader of the 
Saracens, Richard found a worthy antagonist. 
Many are the tales told of the deeds of prowess 
in which the two took part, and many were 
the courtesies they exchanged. But, in spite of 
the worth of their leaders, the Crusaders won 
but small success, and after a little Richard was 
stricken with one of those wasting fevers that 
attack the traveler in torrid climes. The 
magnanimous Saladin sent to his royal enemy 
gifts of fruit, and snow brought at night on 
mule-back from the mountain-tops. 




During all that long and tedious illness 
Blondel never left his master's couch, but tended 
him with the patience and gentleness of a 
woman, never wearying, never murmuring. 
His was the hand that cooled Richard's fever- 
heated brow, and his the voice that, accom- 
panied by the sweet strains of his harp, lulled the 
king to slumber when all other means had failed. 

At length the fever broke and the king re- 
gained his health ; but he was unwilling to 
continue longer a struggle in which neither 
side could claim the victory. A long truce was 
arranged between the Christians and the Sara- 
cens; then Richard, with a few followers, set 
sail for home. Blondel was not of the number. 
As the most faithful servant of the king, he was 
intrusted with an important message to the 
King of Cyprus, after the delivery of which he 
was to join his sovereign in the city of London. 

Now it happened that the vessel in which 
Richard and his band set sail suffered ship- 
wreck near Aquileja, on the shores of the Adri- 
atic Sea. Fortunately few lives were lost; but 
being in haste to reach England, where his 
brother John had usurped the crown, Richard 
decided to take the shorter route, across Ger- 
many, rather than to risk again the perils and 
delays of an ocean voyage. As the Duke of 
Austria, with whom Richard had quarreled 
while in the Holy Land, was his bitter enemy, 
this was a dangerous undertaking for the king. 
In the interests of safety, therefore, he adopted 
the disguise of a palmer, or wandering friar. 
But a man so well known and of such stature as 
Richard could scarcely hope to pass unchal- 
lenged ; and it happened that near the city of 
Vienna, while halting at a little wayside inn, 
he was recognized and made a prisoner. The 
Duke of Austria, overjoyed at such good fortune, 
hastened to hand his royal captive over to the 
emperor, who had him conveyed, without loss 
of time, to a fortress hidden in the thickness of 
a dark and lonely forest, the name and where- 
abouts of which were kept a secret. 

When, after his long voyage, the faithful 
Blondel arrived in England, his first words were 
to ask intelligence of the king. And his heart 
sank as he was answered with the direful news 
that his beloved master, his friend and protec- 
tor, was a prisoner in a foreign land. 

" But where ? " he asked, " and what plans 
are there on foot to bring about his freedom ? " 

They could not tell ; they did not know ; 
perchance they did not care. Mayhap they 
feared the wrath of John and dared not help 
their rightful lord. Blondel asked no aid from 
those false lords and traitor subjects, but, taking 
only his harp, set out alone to find his royal 

All through Germany he wandered, stopping 
before each fortress and each castle that seemed 
to him likely to serve the purpose of a prison. 
There he would play an air familiar to the king, 
and wait to learn if it were heard and recog- 
nized ; for in this way he hoped to discover the 
place of his friend's concealment, and to convey 
to him the information that aid was at hand. 
With each new tower and castle that he chanced 
upon hope sprang up newly in his breast. He 
would take the harp from its case and resting it 
against his knee begin to play : perchance this 
was the one that held the king. But, alas ! his 
song remained unanswered, and he passed on 
with a heavier weight upon his heart — yet never 

Day succeeded day, week followed week, 
month slipped into month. Mile after mile of 
forest and of dusty road he traversed, the faith- 
ful boy, persisting in his quest. Hope never 
quite deserted him. The loyal love that filled 
his heart ever urged him onward and still on- 

One evening just before the dusk, when the 
slanting sunlight threw long shadows of the 
pines across his path, Blondel approached a 
somber wood into whose dark recesses it seemed 
that man had never penetrated. On the top- 
most bough of a noble spruce-tree a little bird 
with wings and breast rosy, like flame, was carol- 
ing his even-song. 

Blondel noted the bird, and suddenly, without 
apparent cause, there rushed through all his 
being a flood of joy and hope. " Rose is the 
color of hope," he said. " Where the bird goes, 
thither will I follow." 

As if in answer to his words, the bird left his 
perch and flitted farther into the wood. Now 
it tarried upon one tree, now upon another, 
Blondel always following, until it led him close 
to the walls of a gloomy fortress flanked by one 



square tower, set in the very heart of the great 

There was no longer doubt or hesitation in 
the mind of the young minstrel. The bounding 
joy within told him that his long search had 


come to a successful end. He seized his harp, 
and stationing himself beneath the tower, played 
a short prelude and began to sing a mournful 
little melody that he and Richard had often 
sung together. 

Scarcely had he completed the first stanza 
when a voice far up in the tower, the voice he 

knew and loved so well, took up and repeated 
the tender strain. His heart overflowing with 
thankfulness, the minstrel fell upon his knees, 
and raising his eyes, dim with happy tears, to 
heaven, he exclaimed : " Oh, Richard, my 
king! Oh, my king! 
Found, found at last ! " 
He might not see his 
royal friend, might not 
have speech with him, 
even ; for doubtless 
watchful eyes were on 
the king, and at the 
first indication that his 
place of confinement 
hadbeen discovered his 
captors would spirit 
him away. Yet joy 
unspeakable filled the 
minstrel's faithful 

breast, for his weary 
search had at length 
been rewarded with 

Blondel hastened 
back to England with 
the news ; and present- 
ly Eleanor, the queen 
mother, set out with all 
her train and the huge 
ransom that the em- 
perordemanded,to buy 
the freedom of her son. 
You may be quite sure 
that Blondel accompa- 
nied them, and when 
the tall captive, pale 
from his long confine- 
ment, strode out among 
them all, the minstrel 
threw himself at the feet 
of his sovereign, and 
grasping the hand of his 
royal and beloved friend, covered it with kisses. " 

Richard looked down upon the bowed head 
of the youth and his cold blue eyes softened. 
" The greatest thing in the world," he said, 
" is the love of a mother for her child ; and 
after that, earth holds no more precious gem 
than the love of a faithful friend." 


By James M. Dodge, 

President of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. 

Note. — The following article comprises the greater part of an address delivered by Mr. Dodge at trie annual 
commencement of the Williamson Trade School of Philadelphia in March, 1903. . But it deserves a much wider 
audience, for it contains suggestions and statistics of great value, not only to those interested in mechanical pur- 
suits, but to every American boy who expects to work for his living, or who is ambitious to achieve a successful 
career, whether on individual lines or as an employer in some great industry. Whatever his life-work is to be, 
the best investment that a boy can make is "to invest in himself" by "increasing his own potential value," and in 
the accomplishment of this, as Mr. Dodge points out, training plays a vital part. We commend the article to the 
careful attention of the older boy readers of St. Nicholas and their parents. — Editor. 


This country inherited from England the 
trade guild, and until about 1850 the American 
guilds were active and powerful organizations. 
The general system was based on the rights of 
inheritance, and young men were admitted to 
apprenticeships through the influence and in 
deference to the wishes of their fathers or male 
relatives, already members of the guild. The 
number of apprentices, however, that were to 
be admitted annually was fixed by the guilds, 
and it was impossible for all the young men or 
boys who wished to acquire a trade to have an 
opportunity afforded them. These guilds had 
one redeeming quality that is not to be over- 
looked, and that is, the training accorded the 
apprentices was of a most thorough and proper 
character, resulting in perpetuating and main- 
taining the standard of excellence in workman- 
ship which was the pride of the members. These 
guilds were accorded valuable rights by the 
crown of England, and in this country, to a more 
limited extent, by some of our own earlier laws. 


The decline of the guild system was the 
direct result of the introduction of labor-saving 
machinery and the specializing of different por- 
tions of the work incident to any particular trade 
or calling. For instance, in the early days a 
watchmaker literally made every part of a watch. 
A bootmaker sometimes tanned his own leather, 
made his own thread, compounded his wax, and 

'Vol. XXXI.— 8. 

made boots without any aid whatsoever except 
ing that which would be given him by his ap- 
prentices. Taking this trade for example, the 
first move was to relieve him of the tanning of 
his leather. Then, thread factories furnished 
him thread. His wax became a commercial 
article. Shoe-pegs were introduced, manufac- 
tured by machinery. Finally, all the tools and 
paraphernalia of his trade could be purchased 
by any one who wished to buy them. This en- 
couraged persons outside of the guild to manu- 
facture boots and shoes. The great mass 
of the people are now furnished with boots 
and shoes made in large factories, the pro- 
duct passing through many hands in reaching 
its finished state, possibly with no one man 
being thoroughly conversant with every step in 
the manufacture. It is easy to see, therefore, 
that the old-time guild, using only manual labor 
and with a limit placed upon the number of 
apprentices that were to have the privilege of 
learning the trade, could not possibly keep pace 
with these times nor supply the demand. 

What I have said of the shoemakers' guild is 
applicable to all of the trades. Some lines in 
which the demand is limited, such as, for in- 
stance, the gold-beater's art, are now controlled 
by the trade union, which is the direct successor 
of the guild. In the mechanical arts the same 
conditions have prevailed and the same results 
have been achieved. Twenty-five years ago a 
machinist was a man of varied attainments. 
He did the work of the plumber, the pipe-fitter, 
the blacksmith, the tool-maker, the draftsman, 
frequently that of the carpenter; he could work 




in brass, iron, and steel, and understood the 
care and repair of steam-engines, though in 
none of these lines was his development equal 
to that of the skilled artisan of to-day, working 
in his own special line. Still, he met the condi- 
tions of the time satisfactorily. 




In the general march of improvement special- 
izing was the order of the day, and the old ma- 
chinist has been practically replaced by a dozen 
or more skilled workers in various lines, all, 
however, directly connected with the machinist's 
work; and to-day we find the machinist a spe- 
cialist, frequently working in very narrow lines, 
as, for instance, running a lathe day after day 
and month after month and even year after 
year, with no change whatever in his daily rou- 
tine. Another man will be known as a planer 
hand, running a metal planer and having prac- 
tically no experience in any other line of work. 
Then, we have fitters of various degrees of skill, 
their business being to take the parts of a mech- 
anism, large or small as the case may be, and, 
by putting on the finishing touches, either as- 
semble them into the finished machine or prepare 
them for some other workman in the work of as- 
sembling. As a consequence, " learning a trade," 
as it is called to-day, is a misnomer. Generally 
speaking, there are few opportunities for a young 
man to-day to acquire the trade of machinist in 
the shops of this country. In the first place, 
establishments are frequently so large that an 
individual is entirely lost sight of. If he meets 
his hours of work and is able to do the work 
assigned to him satisfactorily, he is allowed 
to remain at his special line indefinitely. Fre- 
quently the training of years in one shop 
will not enable a man to get employment at 
good wages in another. 



The development of the trade union must 
not be confounded in any sense with the old 
guilds, because the guilds were actuated by 

pride of profession, and membership in a guild 
at once stamped a man as a craftsman of skill 
and frequently of positive artistic ability. The 
trade union, as organized, does not perpetuate 
the dignity of a calling, but strives to regulate 
wages and elevate poor workmen to a position 
to which they are not justly entitled by their 
manual skill or natural capabilities, thus impos- 
ing a burden on the worthy and thoroughly 
competent artisans in their trade. The unions 
regulate, as far as they can, the number of 
apprentices that may be employed. They do 
not, however, devote any attention to the train- 
ing and education of the apprentices they per- 
mit their employers to engage. They exercise 
no power of selection, looking upon apprentices 
as those who some day will, by adding to the 
number of members of the union, deprive some 
one else of a means of livelihood. There is no 
incentive in unionism for individual develop- 
ment beyond the average of the mass. Super- 
lative skill, great physical strength, clear insight, 
and ambition must all be held back, lest, in 
their natural development, they should enable 
their possessor to do more work in a day than 
the average of his fellows. As a very natural 
consequence, the future foremen, superinten- 
dents, and managers will be selected from the 
ranks of those whose love of individuality, labor, 
and natural brilliancy has kept them individual- 
ized and enabled them to demonstrate their 
superior worth. In years gone by, the appren- 
tice was trained in a large range of duty inci- 
dent to the work of the machinist, in a broad 
sense ; but there is no longer in the machinist 
trade true apprenticeship. 



It has been well said that " Time determines 
all things," and time has evolved a solution 
which, though but in its infancy, is destined to 
grow and be the most important development 
in educational lines that the world has ever 
seen. I refer to the trade schools. Locally 
we have some splendid examples — the Drexel 
Institute, the Williamson Trade School, the 
manual training-school, and others. But scat- 




tered all over the country are schools of this 
character, which undoubtedly will grow more 
rapidly than any educational institutions of the 

Within comparatively few years this lack of 
opportunity for proper training, making itself 
manifest, and finding the law of supply and de- 
mand in good working order, registered its 
want, and fortunately the method of supply was 
developed. This training is now being given 
by many institutions in this country, in shops 
equipped with the most modern tools and em- 
ploying up-to-date methods, and supervised by 
instructors of marked ability and fully imbued 
with the importance and far-reaching benefits of 
their calling. The instruction is systematic and 
individual, and I feel fully justified in saying 
that a month of such training is of more value 
than a year's time spent by a young man in a 
large shop, in which he is as likely to absorb 
error as truth. 

It has been said that a three years' course in 
a trade school, in which an average of but a 
few hours a day are devoted to actual manual 
work, can in no way compare with three years' 
time spent in actual work in a shop. I feel that 
this is a popular error. In shop work a man 
may spend months in repetition of the same 
task, to no ultimate advantage to the worker. 
Instead of his skill being quickened, it is dulled. 
He very quickly acquires the skill which is 
unconscious in its operation, and, like the old 
lady with her knitting-needle, he can talk to a 
fellow-workman, or think and dream about far- 
distant places and matters, without in any way 
lessening the rate of production. In fact, some- 
times his pace might be actually quickened by 
some mental emotion having an exciting effect 
upon his nervous organization, in the same way 
that the old lady, in chatting with her friends, 
will knit fast or slow in harmony with the dull- 
ness or animation of the conversation. It is 
quite obvious that repetitive routine work is not 
desirable for a young man of natural ambition 
and aptitude. In the trade school he escapes 
routine but is instructed in the underlying prin- 
ciples of his work, and does enough manual 
labor to familiarize himself with the various 
tools required, and to prove the correctness of 
the theories in which he has been instructed. 


The most important lesson of all for a young 
man to learn, regardless of his future calling, is 
thoroughly to appreciate the worth of accuracy. 
Without accuracy in his work, he is a failure. 
Without accuracy in his thought, his life will be 
a comparative failure. No man, young or old, 
will for a minute claim the contrary. In spite, 
however, of the universal acquiescence in the 
statement that accuracy is essential to success, it 
is not easy of attainment. " Let well enough 
alone " is, unfortunately, a saying that is uni- 
versally known and, I regret to say, very ex- 
tensively put into practice. It is certainly a 
dangerous thing for a parent to say to a child, 
and never is said by an instructor to a pupil. 
It is the misapplication of trite sayings that 
does so much harm. If a person should break 
through the ice and, after a severe struggle, 
reach the shore covered with mud and with a 
more or less shocked nervous system, even if 
his method of escape be criticized, it is cer- 
tainly proper to let well enough alone, and not 
go back again and scramble out in a more de- 
liberate, dignified, and commendable manner. 
The saying in this case is all right. If, how- 
ever^ it is a question of a railroad time-table, 
and there are errors in it, and it would be ex- 
pensive to have it reprinted, it would be a most 
dangerous thing for any one in authority to 
say, " Let well enough alone ; we will trust 
to luck." 

So it is with training in the arts. It is essen- 
tial that a respect for accuracy should be so in- 
corporated into the mental fiber of the aspirant 
for future honor and advancement that it be- 
comes his first rather than his second nature. 
This lesson is the most important thing to be 
gained from the trade school, or, in fact, from 
any other institution of learning. 

The common result of education, regardless 
of the particular name by which a branch may 
be called, resolves itself simply into an im- 
provement in judgment ; in other words, a per- 
son's opinion, in his chosen calling, becomes of 
value. This is not the result of studying any 
one text-book, or doing any one thing in the 




training of the hands, but is a matter of obser- 
vation, relatively slow or rapid, depending upon 
the mental caliber of the individual. It takes 
years for the average individual to acquire even 
an approximate idea of the relative importance 
of things. It is not infrequent that the most 
industrious person, so far as being always busy 
is concerned, makes comparatively little or no 
progress. People of very decided notions con- 
cerning every trifle of their existence are rarely 
broadly successful. There must be a determi- 
nation as to what particular thing they are 
called upon to do, or are given opportunity 
to do, and then the work must be done thor- 
oughly, promptly, and at the sacrifice of smaller 
matters. It is a notable fact in the engineering 
profession that the man with the greatest num- 
ber of note-books and with the best systems of 
classifying information resolves himself into a 
recorder of things of the past and develops no 
ability in planning for the future. It is infi- 
nitely better to make few notes, except mental 
ones, and train the mind to do its work on 
broader lines than the mere slavish following of 
the details of the past. 




The- trade-school training is one decidedly 
tending toward individualism. Its boys, as 
a rule, do not come from the wealthier classes. 
There is an earnestness of purpose that is com- 
mendable, and the records show that the per- 
centage of failure to pass satisfactorily through 
the course is exceedingly small. In opposition 
to this, it not infrequently happens in our 
larger universities of learning that less than one 
half of those entering the freshman classes 
graduate. Not more than 5 per cent, of the 
boys entering the trade schools fail to complete 
the course satisfactorily, and the tasks set are no 
less exacting than those in our large colleges 
and universities. This may be attributed to the 
fact that no boy enters a trade school without a 
positive determination to complete the course 
and be thankful for the opportunity. None 
are forced to go through the ambition of their 
parents, because, as a rule, the decision to send 

a boy to one of the trade schools is a serious 
sacrifice on the part of his family. In the 
trade school the boy is impressed with the idea 
that his first day there is the beginning of his 
career. In our larger institutions the day after 
commencement is looked upon as the beginning 
of the career. This is a very important dis- 
tinction. Again, in entering the trade school 
a boy has already made up his mind what his 
life-work is to be. In the majority of cases, boys 
entering our universities have no clearly defined 
idea of their future work after graduation. As 
a result, the trade-school boy can directly apply 
the training he has received toward increasing 
his value to his. employer and himself. 


What of the boy who has no opportunity of 
education beyond the lower schools ? As a rule, 
at about 16 years of age he seeks employment, 
frequently because he is tired of school — does 
not see the use of it. His father, and possibly 
an uncle or two, will boast that they had little or 
sometimes no schooling, and now earn $3 per 
day, have been able to support their families, and 
were it not for the fact that some people are born 
lucky and get rich, and other people are born 
unlucky and stay poor, they would have been 
certainly very much " farther ahead " than they 
are. Considering all the circumstances, how- 
ever, he is satisfied, and does not see why 
his boy should not be at work, inasmuch as he 
already has a great deal more of this intangible 
something called " schooling" than the father 
had. In seeking employment, the boy naturally 
wishes to acquire a trade, because he sees all 
about him the relatively affluent position of the 
men working at trades as compared to those who 
are simply laborers. At this stage a certain 
amount of natural selection manifests itself. If 
he is inclined toward mechanical pursuits he 
will naturally endeavor to get a start in some 
shop, and he is fortunate if he succeeds. Often 
he is obliged to take what he can get, and is 
thus diverted from his original intent. 


But if he obtains employment in a machine- 
shop, he will receive, say, $3 per week wages, 







23. OOO 

,. 22.000 

^ 2I.OOO 

^ • 20,000 

^ 19,000 

5J3 fi ia,ooo 

>_. % 17,000 
2 > ^0 

s £0 16,000 

<i p.g 15.000 

SB fcs 

DLi ** I4.000 
3£ io 13,000 
(0^ ^0 12,000 

St £§ "•°°° 

sii£ Sjlj! 10.000 
Sq. §3 9,000 
^P *" a- 000 
5^ 7.000 
kjjj 6,000 
s<; 5,000 
£<$> 4,000 
OUj 3,000. 



ONE (or Annvr4%) 


"22. 00 




■ ! is. 00 s 

'per WEEK 




,^-flZ~40 PER 



S /3. 20 [T PER WEE/i 

p' 313.20 PER WEEK 




A 1 

{ 8 18.00 - " 







s 9.0o 

f' PER W 





S 7.40 r J PL 

R WK. 



J* 6.80 ' '• 


1 1 

>* 5. 40 PER WK. 


„-•' 4 80 PER WK 
v* 4.2Q 1 •' » 


*/,*' 3.60 PER rYK 




li 3. OO PEP WEEK 




(ages) 16 17 IS 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 23 29 30 


this being, we will say, $150 per year, or 5 per 
cent, on $3000. 

I have endeavored to find out what the 
money investment is in a boy of 16. The 
census reports and statistics from abroad cannot 
possibly give all the items. It is so difficult to 
decide upon the class to which any individual 
belongs. I feel satisfied, however, that the 
world at large places a very accurate value on 
any commodity, and labor certainly is a com- 
modity, and the community in which we live 
says that a 16-year-old lad in good health en- 
tering a shop is worth $3 per week, and con- 
sequently his potential or invested value is 
$3000. We will therefore establish this as his 
value. The same value can be placed upon a 
boy of 16 who is fortunate enough to be entered 
on the roll of a trade school. We will now 
imagine two groups of 24 boys, or 48 in all, one 
half entering a trade school. Fortunately, I 
have statistics covering two groups of this size, 
and we will trace their advancement, translating 
it into dollars, through a term of years. You 
will understand this clearly by referring to the 

accompanying chart. On the left-hand side, 
you will notice, we have a column of figures, the 
lowest one being $1000, andprogressingupward 
in steps of $1000 each until we reach the sum of 
$25,000 at the head of the column. Each one 
of these figures is opposite one of the horizontal 
lines on the chart. This is for convenience, so 
that we may readily see where each figure will 
apply as the line is projected from left to right. 
On the lower .margin of the chart we have 
figures from 16 at the lower left-hand corner 
to 30 on the lower right-hand corner. These 
figures are consecutive, and represent years of 
time. You will note that at 16, which means 
16 years of age, and following the vertical line 
from 16 upward, we come to our first stopping- 
place, opposite the figures representing $3000. 
Here, if you please, we start our young men, 
and, to simplify matters, we will reduce each 
group now to one individual as representing 
the average of the entire 24. 

We will first trace the course of a young man 
having no special training or manifested apti- 
tude in the work before him. Arbitrarily, and 




based on years of experience, it has been found, 
in the shop from which these statistics are 
gleaned, that a practically uniform increase in 
the rate of wages can be maintained for 3^ 
years, or until the boy of 16 has reached the 
age of 19 years and 6 months. This is shown 
by the increases of 60 cents per week for each 
6 months of service. During this time the 
boys are really gaining instruction. So far as 
possible and practicable, their work is varied, 
not only in the machine-shop, but they are 
given instruction and opportunity to acquire 
at least the rudiments of pattern-making, 
wrought-iron construction, and some black- 
smithing. At the age of 19*4, wages are $7.40 
per week, or, as you will see by carrying the 
line back to the column of potential values, this 
potential value is increased to $7400; in other 
words, in 3^ years his potential value has 
increased from $3000 to $7400, a gain of 
$4400. At the end of the fourth year he is 
earning $9 per week. This represents $9000 
in potential value, or, to put it another way, 
starting with the rate of $3 per week and a 
potential value of $3000, he has in 4 years in- 
creased his potential value $6000, or an aver- 
age increase of $1500 per annum, which he 
has invested in himself. In the meantime he 
has been rendering satisfactory service to his 
employer, and a profit has been made on his 
work, not as large, however, by any means, as 
the profit to himself. What has he now ? He 
has a potential value of $9000, which he can- 
not be deprived of, provided he retains his 
health and his habits of industry. 


Compare him with a young man of 20 who 
has been fortunate enough, as the world would 
say, to come into an inheritance of $9000, and 
having no training of like value. His first 
thought is that in order to improve his finances 
he must do it through the investment of his 
$9000. In this he has had no experience, and 
he starts out to experiment and to gain ex- 
perience in an unfamiliar and hazardous way. 
An error wipes out his money. It has left 
him nothing to serve him in the future except 
the knowledge that what he did was wrong, 

and the resolve that he will not do it again. 
But he may never have the chance to try. He 
then starts, at the age of 20, to seek employ- 
ment. He considers himself too old to go 
back to a trade school, alongside of boys of 
16, because he will lose 4 years. Here is his 
second error. But he obtains employment 
that is clean-handed, possibly because it was a 
ready opportunity, and we will leave him strug- 
gling against what he may call and be thor- 
oughly satisfied is adversity. A person strug- 
gling against adversity, if he really struggles, 
is a person trying to make something out of 
nothing. In other words, he has to create. 
It is possible a few may succeed. The large 
majority, however, become misanthropic and 
feel that the odds against them are too heavy, 
and they settle back to accept what they call 
their "fate." 


Influence is popularly supposed to be of very 
great value, and the success of an individual is 
often erroneously attributed to this power. It 
is true, influence may secure a man a political 
position, but it is of only momentary value in 
other walks of life. For instance, suppose a 
man had influence enough to get letters from 
King Edward, Emperor William, President 
Roosevelt, and Andrew Carnegie, recommend- 
ing him as first-baseman on the Philadelphia 
nine, not because he was a good ball-player, 
but because they wanted to help him along 
and a vacancy existed. How long do you sup- 
pose this influence would keep him in his posi- 
tion? It is quite obvious to you that after he 
had made a failure and was relieved of his 
duties he might take his letters to Mr. Sousa 
and ask for a position in his band, without hav- 
ing proper musical knowledge. Again his let- 
ters of recommendation would be valueless, 
excepting that in both cases they would give 
him an opportunity to show what he could do; 
but if he was not prepared entirely and com- 
pletely to fill the position, no amount of influence 
would secure his being retained. All that influ- 
ence can do for any one is to give him an 
opportunity to start in the race. It is often 
detrimental to a young man to be recommended 
too highly, or in any way to feel that he can 




lean upon his backers and get special considera- 
tion for any extended period. 

Influence all by itself is of no positive value, 
and is often damaging to the interests it seeks 
to advance. And many kindly intentions 
handicap the person upon whom they are con- 
ferred. It is not always the man that jumps 
into the water with the greatest splash and com- 
motion that is the best swimmer: quite the con- 
trary is the rule — you all have got to show by 
your own work what your value is. A recom- 
mendation detailing an honorable past is mer- 
ited and useful at times. A recommendation, 
however, that is entirely prophetic and deals 
with the great things that you are going to do 
is a heavy burden to carry. Therefore bear in 
mind, all through your lives, that it is not what 
people think or hope you can do, but what you 
can actually do, that makes your reputation and 
stamps the "Sterling" mark on your character 
and ability. 


Returning to the chart, I would like to call 
your attention to further figures and data of 

You will note that the untrained boy in 3 
years has increased his earning power from 
$3 per week to $6.80, and you will also ob- 
serve that the Williamson School boy in travers- 
ing the line between his entrance and gradua- 
tion crosses the $6.80 line after he has been in 
the school a year and three months. In other 
words, he has gained almost 2 years on the 
boy who entered the shop with the idea that 
school training was an unnecessary waste of 
time. It is quite evident, therefore, that time 
has been lost, and not gained, by entering the 
shop without training. Roughly, this holds 
true indefinitely. While the two lines run along 
parallel or substantially so, say for the next 4 
or 5 years, you will observe that the time ele- 
ment is always in favor of the trained boy, and 
that in a very few years he is leaving his less 
fortunate brother well to the rear. 

Our young man who has his investment 
within himself cannot, as I said before, lose it 
except through ill health or improper habits. 
Temporary sickness, digression from the proper 
path, becoming discouraged and trying some- 

thing else at this stage of his career, is not fatal. 
It may be more or less unfortunate. But losses 
through these causes may be recouped, and the 
lesson learned through the temporary dip in the 
line of progress may be advantageous and re- 
sult in renewed effort, and enable him to regain 
his position in the line, or possibly forge ahead 
faster than his associates, of whose company 
he was temporarily deprived. Thus we see that 
his error or misfortune has not resulted in a loss 
of his money or potential value. He still has it. 

From the age of 20 to 21%, or for 18 months, 
if the untrained boy continues to do his work 
well, it will be seen, by reference to the chart, 
that his line has continued running more toward 
the vertical than it did from the time he was 16 
until he was 19^2 . Nowthe experience which he 
received during the formative period is beginning 
to make itself very manifest. He becomes more 
useful as an all-around man, and you will note 
that his rate is increased to $13.20 per week. 
Carried back to the left, we find that his poten- 
tial value is working upward toward $14,000. 
Now his value, while increasing, cannot in- 
crease at the ratio of the past 18 months or 2 
years. He is overtaking the journeymen of his 
trade and is beginning to mingle with the lag- 
gards or poorer ones of the craft. 

A year later, or taking the age 22^, his wage 
has been increased to $14.40 per week. Again 
we see his potential value has gone up be- 
yond $14,000. For the next 18 months he con- 
tinues in substantially the same line, and at 
24 years of age is earning $15 per week, and 
his potential value is $15,000. In other words, 
he has increased his potential value $12,000, 
and draws the interest on his investment in 
instalments once a week, and is earning 5 per 
cent, on his accumulated value. 


We now can draw some general conclusions 
from the statistics of this group of 24 young 
men starting at 16 years of age at $3 per 
week, and at 26 years of age earning $15 
per week or thereabouts : 

We find that only 5 per cent, of this class 
rise above this line to any marked degree. 
Thirty-five per cent, remain in the employ 
of the company and follow the line indefi- 

6 4 



nitely. Twenty per cent, leave of their own 
accord, but with good records behind them (so 
that probably the same statistics would apply to 
them also — that is, 5 per cent, of them may 
rise above the line and 35 per cent, of them 
follow the line in other establishments). Forty 
per cent, are dismissed, and it is fair to as- 
sume that these never rise above the line. 
They are not dismissed at the age of 26, but 
fall by the wayside, unable to keep pace with 
the march of progress. 


We will now turn to the group who have 
entered the trade school. Starting again at 
the potential value of $3000 for the boys of 
1 6 years of age, we will follow the course of an 
individual, representing the average of his com- 
panions. The first noticeable thing is that for 
3 years, starting from the age of 16 and ter- 
minating on the line representing 19 years, he 
is in school ; and instead of having his wage- 
rate dotted along at intervals of 6 months, as 
in the case of the boy entering a shop without 
the trade-school training, we find no rates at 
all, and we feel justified in making this line per- 
fectly straight, with the first money entry made 
upon it at the time of his graduation, at the age 
of 19, and entering upon his employment. We 
now find a most interesting state of affairs. He 
is employed at the rate of $12 per week, this 
representing a potential value of $12,000, or 
an increase during his school term of $9000, 
or an average of $3000 per annum. During 
the same term the untrained boy, you will ob- 
serve, has reached a potential of $7000 at the 
same age ; in other words, the trained boy has 
a $5000 start at the same age. Again, the 
untrained boy's line crosses the $12,000 poten- 
tial line at a point which indicates that he is 
21 years of age. In other words, the trained 
boy has $5000 advantage at the same age, and 
has 2 years running start on the boy who has 
not had the same training. Now, what does 
he do in the next 2 years ? To follow along 
his career, you will note that in 6 months his 
rate has been increased to $13.20 per week. 
One year later, or at the age of 20)4, he 
has reached $15 per week. The untrained 
man is now 24 years old and earning the same 

wage, but it will be noticed that his line of 
progress is running more nearly parallel with 
the horizontal line than that of the trained man. 
Six months later, at the age of 2\y 2 , they 
part company quite decidedly, the untrained 
man's line running off horizontally to the right, 
whereas the line of the trained man is progress- 
ing onward and upward, at substantially the 
same angle it has shown since the time of his 
entrance to the trade school. Why is it possi- 
ble for these two men thus to part company ? 
It is because the untrained man can increase 
his rate only by remaining as a working ma- 
chinist in a shop. The trained man has sub- 
stantially mastered all that the untrained man 
has, so far as his actual labor is concerned, but 
he has within him other possibilities. He can 
now apply in a combined manner his theoreti- 
cal and his practical training, becoming a 
leading man, possibly a foreman or a drafts- 
man. It is now that this, his better knowledge, 
coupled with his intellectual improvement, 
makes itself most manifest. His rate at the 
age of 21^ is $16 per week; his potential 
value $16,000. Fourteen months later we 
find him earning $18 per week; ten months 
later $20 per week ; and in another year, or at 
the age of 25, he is earning $22 per week — a 
rate practically unattainable by the untrained 
man. Five per cent, of the untrained — those 
having decided genius and a faculty of improv- 
ing their minds and increasing their theoretical 
knowledge, courage enough to take courses in 
the correspondence schools or obtain instruc- 
tion in the evenings — rise to his class, and it 
is not impossible that in very rare instances 
would do as well through their future life. A 
trained man at 25 years of age has a poten- 
tial value of $22,000, or in 9 years he has 
increased his value $19,000, or at the rate of 
$2100 per annum, as compared with $1300 
per annum for the untrained man, and with 
this manifest additional advantage over the 
untrained man — that his line has no limita- 
tion, so far as we can see. 


Now, to make a comparison of special inter- 
est, I would remind you of the fact that 




nearly all of the boys entering trade schools 
graduate, and that it was not uncommon to 
have at least 50 per cent, or one half of the 
freshmen entering our larger colleges and uni- 
versities fail of graduation, and again, that 
among the untrained group 40 per cent, fail to 
reach even the $15 line, and that with the 
boys from the trade schools, in our experience, 
only one has failed completely, and the rest are 
still following the average line or have left for 
better positions. 

The question arises, What are the persona] 
peculiarities that prove advantageous or detri- 
mental to an individual ? We will take, if you 
please, the lower one of these lines, or that rep- 
resenting the untrained man. Suppose he were 
called upon to chart his own estimate of him- 
self. The line I have shown is the employer's 
or, broadly speaking, the world's estimate of his 
worth. If, for instance, his line, as drawn by 
himself, were a modest one, and below the line 
shown on the chart, and he realized his own 
shortcomings and endeavored all the time to 
add to his value by energy in his work, by men- 
tal improvement and acquisition, and by his 
accumulation of general usefulness and an 
earnest desire to make his line rise more rapidly, 
it is quite evident that the net result would be 
a pressure exerted on the under side of the line 
drawn by his employer upward, and he would 
be a potent factor in deflecting it more toward 
the vertical. On the other hand, suppose the 
line he draws is drawn over and higher than 
the one drawn on the chart, what result do we 
have then ? He is afflicted, if you please, by 
what is commonly called the " big head." He 
is dissatisfied with his progress, he is jealous of 
those who, from his standpoint, are making un- 
deserved progress, part of his time is spent in 
brooding over his sorry lot. Instead of trying 
to work with all his heart and strength, he feels 
aggrieved and shirks his work. It is apparent 
that he is to be a burden on the top of the em- 
ployer's line, tending to bend it downward. 
That he will certainly do this is, unfortunately, 
just as true as that, with proper effort, he might 

have succeeded in bending the line upward to 
his advantage. Thus we see the inevitable re- 
sults of two opposite mental attitudes. 


Now what general conclusions can we draw 
from the facts presented ? In the first place, 
what have been the contributing agencies to 
this increase in potential value ? Primarily, 
we all would say, of course, that the investment, 
for instance, made by the Drexel Institute or 
the Williamson School was a considerable 
factor. In results, this is true. In actual money, 
it is not true. I have a letter from the presi- 
dent of the Williamson Trade School on this 
point, in which he says that the cost of training 
their boys is about $500 per annum each, or 
$1500 for the three-year term. Bear in mind 
that during this time the boys get very little, 
and some get nothing, from outside sources. 
This result is truly astounding when you con- 
sider that Mr. Williamson's payment of $1500 
for each of the scholars shows an increase in 
potential value of the individual of $9000, or 
a gain of six times the investment. Truly 
the seed has fallen upon fallow ground. The 
individual to whom has been given this oppor- 
tunity certainly has appreciated it, and has ren- 
dered his benefactor thanks of the noblest char- 
acter. Imagine, if you can, the satisfaction to 
Mr. Williamson, Mr. Drexel, and other generous 
men, now gone from this earth, if they could 
become aware of the good work they have left 
behind them ! It is inconceivable that there 
can possibly be any other form of bequest 
which will bear so valuable fruit in such abun- 
dance. It is interesting, in this practical age, 
to be able to see in dollars the result of such 
wise and beneficent contributions. The only 
public work that can possibly compare with it 
is that of our hospitals, where, by restoring thou- 
sands to health and rendering them able to work, 
the money invested is multiplied many fold — 
and this in addition to its benefits or the phil- 
anthropic side of the question. 

Vol. XXXI.— 9. 


(As narrated by Linda.) 

By Charlotte Sedgwick. 

Charlie Adams caught up with me on our 
way to school, and said, " Guess who are at odds 
now ! Polly Phelps and Priscilla Pomeroy ! " 

" Not really ! " I exclaimed. " Not Pris and 
Polly ? " 

" Pris and Polly — thim same" Charlie said. 

But I did n't believe it, and I told him so. 
Polly Phelps and Priscilla Pomeroy could n't 
quarrel with each other to save their lives. 
And certainly they had been boon comrades 
only the afternoon before. Charlie said that 
did n't matter at all ; it did n't take girls long 
to fall out, he had noticed. That boy has 
noticed a lot ! 

But it was different with Pris and Polly, I 
told him. It was perfectly ridiculous ! I asked 
who had told him such a silly tale. 

He said that nobody had told him — he had 
seen. And with that mysterious look of his, he 
quoted, " ' I,' said the fly, ' with my little eye.' " 

Then I grew cross. I told him that he 'd better 
look again ; that the girls could n't quarrel. 

But you never can get anything out of a boy 
that way. Charlie just said, " Oh, all right ; 
then they have n't ! " and began to whistle. 
So I sighed, and said that I was dreadfully 
afraid they had, for he was quite a Sherlock 
Holmes about finding things out; and in two 
minutes I knew all that he knew. 

" Why, look here, Linda Prescott ! " he said. 
" If you had seen Polly stop for Pris on her way 
to school every morning for years, and then, 
this morning, go right by and never even look 
at the house, would n't you think there was 
something wrong ? And Polly hardly gets by 
when out comes Pris and sails up the street be- 
hind her, as cool as the north side of a stone 
wall. Oh, there 's trouble brewing ! " 

Just the same, when I went into the school- 
room I expected to find Polly and Priscilla to- 
gether, as they always were. But I did n't. 
Polly was at the piano, helping Miss Lindsay 

choose the morning songs, and Pris was at her 
desk, studying. 

Now Pris did not study when she did n't 
have to, and I went straight down and asked 
her what was wrong. She said, " Oh, nothing," 
but her voice sounded "frigid," as Charlie would 
have said. Then she asked me about a geome- 
try problem, so we worked together until the 
bell rang. But she did n't know a thing she 
was doing, and I felt her sob once when Polly's 
gay laugh came back to us. 

" Tell me, Prissie," I whispered ; but she 
shook her head. I wanted to shake Polly, for 
I was sure that it was all her fault. 

When the first song was given out I fairly 
held my breath for fear Pris would n't offer 
Polly part of her book, as usual. If she did, 
then there was n't any serious trouble, after all. 
And the next moment, to my joy, I saw Pris 
holding her book out to Polly in her sweet little 
way ; and then I almost groaned, for Polly 
swung completely around and helped herself to 
half of my book. 

Pris turned red and then white. I was scared. 
I thought that she was going to faint, or cry, 
perhaps. But she did n't. In a moment she 
began to sing as if nothing had happened. I 
never could have done it! But your meek, 
quiet little people surprise you with their grit 

And was n't I just furious at Polly! And 
Polly flared up at me, and we were saying an- 
gry things to each other, when suddenly we saw 
Dr. Hunt looking at us, and we had to go to 
singing, instead. 

Of course, as a very intimate friend of both 
the girls, all the other girls expected me to give 
them a full account of the quarrel. And I had 
to tell them that I did n't know one thing. I 
told them, too, that the office of peacemaker 
was vacant, so far as I was concerned. 

Ben Harris said that they would have it all 




made up in a day or two, but I said I did n't 
think they would. Poor little Pris would n't 
dare try again, after that dreadful snub, and 
Polly was too proud and stubborn to try at all. 

I was right about it, too. Polly and Pris 
kept it up for days, and it was horrid for every- 
body. I don't think any of us had ever realized 
before how much of our 
fun was due to those two 
girls. It had been an un- 
usual week when Polly 
had n't asked us all down 
for a singing party or a 
candy-pull ; and on every 
Friday evening Mrs. 
Pomeroy had let us roll 
the rug back in the big 
parlor and had played 
for us to dance. 

And now it was all 
over, for, somehow, it did 
n't seem to occur to Pris 
or Polly that it was pos- 
sible to have a party with- 
out Polly or Pris; and the 
rest of us did n't have the 
heart to plan for things 
without them, for we 
found that they would 
both stay away for fear 
of meeting each other. 
I suppose the worst ene- 
mies are made out of the 
best friends. 

And the fun of it was, 
neither girl would say 
one word to show what 
it was all about. Their 
mothers tried to settle it 
once, but they could n't 
find anything to settle, 
they said. Judge Pome- 
roy said it was his opin- 
ion that they had quar- 
reled about nothing, and 
were merely holding out 

in order to convince themselves that it all had 
been worth quarreling about. And I believe 
they would be holding out yet if it had n't 
been for a little school-room mishap. 

Dr. Hunt is very severe about note-writing 
in school. It is silly and unnecessary, he says; 
we see one another morning, noon, and night, 
but if we feel that we must say something to 
somebody between times, we are to get permis- 
sion and go and say it. He almost never 
makes a rule : he just asks us to do things, or 



not to do them ; and he is so nice about it that 
we generally do, or don't. 

But one day in April, during the " Pollo-Pris- 
cillacan war," as Charlie called it, Dr. Hunt saw 




a note flying across the room. He did n't try 
to find out who sent it ; he just added a few 
words to his former remarks on the subject, and 
said he felt sure that it would not happen again. 
The very next day he discovered another. Then 
he was angry, and I did n't blame him. He 
said that he simply would not have note-writing 
in his school, and the next person he caught 
writing, throwing, or passing a note he would 
suspend for the rest of the year. He looked 
white and stern, and his voice was terribly quiet, 
as it always is when he 's excited. 

Then, almost before Dr. Hunt had left the 
room, Polly threw a note. It skimmed straight 
across and fell on Charlie Adams's desk with a 
snap. Miss Browne, who was in charge of the 
room, looked up sharply, but too late to see 
anything unusual. 

I reasoned with Polly afterward. I told her 
I did n't see any sense in deliberately breaking 
a rule like that. But she said that she would 
look after Polly Phelps's manners if I would 
look after Linda Prescott's. 

I could n't understand what had got into 
Polly. She was always lively and daring, but 
now she was positively rude and reckless. It 
worried me. 

Well, one afternoon, about a week later, we 
had excitement enough, only Polly missed part 
of it. The last classes were just going out 
when I saw Dr. Hunt looking intently at a cer- 
tain spot on the floor, down by John Porter's 
seat. He waited until the classes were quite 
out, and then he asked John if that was a note 
there by his desk. 

John evidently had n't discovered it, but he 
picked it up and said that it looked like one. 
Dr. Hunt asked John to bring it to him. John 
did, and Dr. Hunt held it up and asked if the 
person who wrote it would please claim it and 
save him the trouble of opening it. 

Nobody stirred. Everybody was scared, and 
Pris looked ready to cry. Somehow, I was 
afraid that the note was hers, she looked so trou- 
bled. Still, it was n't a bit like her to disobey. 

Dr. Hunt waited a minute; then he slowly 
unfolded the note. I did so hope that it was n't 
signed! But he just glanced at it once, and, 
raising his eyes, said deliberately : " Priscilla 
Pomeroy, will you come here, please ? " 

Pris gave a sudden start, turned white, but 
steadied herself and walked up the aisle very 
calmly. Dr. Hunt held the open note out and 
said : " Are n't those your initials ? " 

Pris hesitated just a second, then she lifted 
her head proudly and looked straight into his 
eyes. " Yes, Dr. Hunt," she said in her clear, 
sweet voice, " they certainly are." 

" It would have been more honorable to claim 
the note in the first place," he said. " You 
might have known that I would find out. You 
may get your books and go." 

His voice sounded dreadfully sorry. I think 
he regretted the rule, for he is very fond of Pris. 
Everybody loves Pris Pomeroy, she is so dear 
and sweet. 

There was a queer little look on her face 
when she came back to get her books. It 
was n't a bit unhappy or ashamed, but glad 
and — well, almost shining. And she walked 
out with the sweetest dignity ! I was proud 
of her. 

When Polly came back from her class and 
saw Pris's empty seat, I saw questions fairly 
popping out of her eyes. She would n't ask, 
though, and I was n't going to tell her. Some- 
how, I felt hateful toward Polly those days. 
But Fred Hamlin whispered across the aisle 
that Pris had been dismissed. 

Polly flung herself around and faced me with 
a terrible look in her eyes. " Linda Prescott, 
what 's the matter ? Where is Pris ? " she said. 

I told her to keep still, Dr. Hunt was look- 
ing; but she said : " Linda, you must tell me — 
quick ! " The bell for dismissal rang just then, 
so I told her. 

And she just put her head down on my desk 
and cried as if her heart was broken. I had 
never seen Polly cry before, and I did n't know 
what to say. But before long she sat up and 
laughed. " Oh, the little idiot ! " she said. 
" The dear little idiot ! " Then she dragged me 
to the office with her, while she told Dr. Hunt. 

Polly never leads up to a subject. She just 
walked straight to the desk and said : " Dr. 
Hunt, Priscilla Pomeroy did n't throw that 
note. I threw it." 

Dr. Hunt looked indignant. " Why in the 
world did n't you say so before, then, Mary ? " 
he asked. 



6 9 

Polly fairly blazed. "I hope you don't 
think I 'm quite so mean as that, Dr. Hunt ! " 
she snapped out. " I threw the note as I was 
going to my class, and I was n't in the room 
when you found it." 

Dr. Hunt said, " Well, well, well ! " and took 
the note from his pocket. 
The dear man looked 
completely befogged. 
" But Priscilla told me 
that she wrote it," he 

" No," I said ; " I beg 
your pardon, Dr. Hunt, 
but Pris did n't say she 
wrote it. You asked her 
if those were n't her ini- 
tials, and she just said 
they were." 

" And they are," he 
said. " They are n't yours, 

Polly laughed and 
promptly explained that 
she was Mary only in 
school ; she was called 
Polly always, and she 
always signed herself 

"And I tell you I wrote 
that note," she finished. 
"Why, allow me, please." 
She scribbled something 
on a sheet of paper and 
pushed it across the desk 
to him. He compared it 
with the' note. 

"Just alike," he said, 
as solemn as a judge, 
though his eyes were 
screwing up at the cor- 
ners. " Your evidence is incontrovertible, Mis- 
tress Mary. But may I ask what Priscilla 
thought she was doing ? " 

" She thought she was saving me," Polly 
said. "You see, Dr. Hunt," she went on, 
" Priscilla and I are — that is, we were good 
friends, and — " 

"Are/" the doctor thundered. "Are, young 
lady! Don't you know that friendship like that 

never can have a past tense ? But what was the 
child thinking of? She might have known that 
her sacrifice could n't succeed ; you were bound 
to spoil it." 

Polly said that would n't have occurred to 
Pris until some time next week, and Dr. Hunt 


told her to go straight down and see that it oc- 
curred to her immediately ; and to be sure to 
tell her to come back to school to-morrow. 

Polly nodded. Then she put out her hand 
and said: "Well, good-by, Dr. Hunt, /'//be 
back next fall." 

The doctor looked absolutely dumfounded. 

"What 's all this? What is the matter? 
What do you mean ? " he stammered. 



" Why," Polly explained, " you know you said 
that you would suspend the next person you 
caught — " 

Dr. Hunt gave the desk such a thump that 
his glasses flew off. 

" Young lady," he said, " if you went out 
to catch rabbits, and one jumped into your 
hands, would you say that you had caught 
him ? " 

" You made the rule, Dr. Hunt," said Polly. 

" Then I '11 unmake the rule," he said quietly. 
" You '11 come to school to-morrow — do you 
understand, Miss Phelps ? " 

Polly murmured something about its demor- 
alizing the school, but he just laughed. 

" You young torment ! " he. said. " I '11 risk 
the demoralizing. And if you are not here by 
nine o'clock to-morrow morning I — I shall 
send the truant officer after you ! " 

" Yes, sir," Polly said, very meekly ; " and 
thank you, sir." 

We turned to go, but Polly flung herself 
around again in her sudden way, and said : 

" Dr. Hunt, you 've been more than kind to 
us all. And I 'm never going to write, throw, 
or receive another note — never ! " 

" Well, well, well ! " Dr. Hunt said. " That is 
welcome information, and I am glad to hear it." 

I went down to Pris's with Polly. I wanted 
to see what they would say. But it was very 
disappointing. Polly just walked in, as if she 
had never missed a day, called Pris a precious 
little goose, and told her to stop for her in the 
morning. And would Pris come over after 
supper and play ping-pong? Pris looked per- 
fectly happy and seemed to understand. 

And that was all ! 

And we never knew what they had quarreled 
about, either. Charlie Adams did ask Pris that 
night, and she laughed and said she had never 
been quite sure herself. 

" Why, yes," Polly said. " Don't you know, 
Pris ? You said — " 

" Polly, I did n't ! " Pris put in. " I said— " 

But she did n't get any further, for Charlie 
pretended to be very much alarmed, and dashed 
between them. 

" Hi, drop it ! " he yelled, and waved his 
racket. It was too realistic, he said, and the 
cause of the " late unpleasantness " was as plain 
to him as a pikestaff. Besides, he had noticed 
that the same old road was pretty likely to lead 
right back to the same old place. 

But I do think he might have waited for Pris 
to tell what it was that she had said. Not that 
I have any curiosity, only I 'd just like to know. 


By Carolyn Wells. 

Over the country-side 
The turkey struts with pride, 
And seems to say : 

" How nobly I adorn 
This smiling autumn morn 
So blithe and gay ! " 

But he '11 adorn a plate 
When we shall celebrate 
Thanksgiving day. 


a tune 8 " 


Etf/t ed by A V/i » fjnJ F. J3j&e/o w* 

Fie upon thee, November ! Thou dost ape 
The airs of thy young sisters : thou hast stolen 
The witching smile of May to grace thy lip, 
And April's rare, capricious loveliness 
Thou 'rt trying to put on ! — Julia C. R. Dorr. 


What a difference and yet what a similarity 
between the balmy days of spring and the Indian 
summer of October or November! The first, a 

; "■ ■ 

! ^H^ 


"TO the far north 



changing of cold to heat, 
Burroughs calls inspiration ; and the 
second, heat to cold, expiration. He also calls atten- 
tion to the fact that " the delicious Indian summer is 
sometimes the most marked in November. A truce 
is declared, and both forces, heat and cold, meet and 
mingle in friendly converse on the field." 

Away to the far north the wintry winds are blowing 

(and soon they will be here), piling up the snow in great 

banks and driving down our juncos, crossbills, and other 

winter birds. The August heat has gone south, taking 

our summer birds with it. On an Indian-summer day we are 

in the middle ground, neither too hot nor too cold, but just 

in poise, like a boy in a boat out on a lake when there is no 

rowing, no current, no wind. And at this hazy time of year 

there is an indescribable charm in the quietness and in the 

peculiar golden light of day and the silvery light by night. 




That beautiful season 
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the summer of 

All Saints. 
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light, and the 

Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. 



But our young folks have an added interest 
in Indian summer. They not only enjoy all 
its beauties, but regard it as a prophecy of the 

winter sports. It means to them that winter is coming — winter, with all its keen and zestful 
enjoyments. Another poet of New England, Lowell, in writing "An Indian-Summer Reverie," 
had not forgotten these pleasant anticipations that November brought in his boyhood days : 

Vol. XXXI.— io-ii. 






And all around me every bush and tree 
Says autumn 's here, and winter soon will be, 
Who snows his soft, white sleep and silence over 
all. . . . 

While firmer ice the eager boy awaits, 

Trying each buckle and strap beside the fire, 

And until bedtime plays with his desire, 

Twenty times putting on and off his new-bought skates. 




There are few country boys living south of 
a line running through New Jersey and west- 
ward to Ohio who do not know the mild fun 
of a moonlight possum hunt, few who have not 
reached gingerly into some old hollow stump 
and pulled out the smiling, unworried marsu- 
pial. Unless my experience is a very uncom- 
mon one, there are few boys within that district 
who have not taken their prize home, put him 
in a barrel to await the morning, and found 
next morning, to their chagrin, that he would 
not stay in the barrel ; there were greater at- 

"reached gingerly into some old hollow stump and 
pulled out the smiling, unworried marsupial." 

tractions outside. Later he took occasion in 
the moonlight to go back to his home stump. 

Somehow it was always a relief to me when 
the possum did that. It was much more fun 
to go out the next night through the corn-fields 
looking for him than killing and eating him 
would have been. Possums are good to eat, 
but eating is not the whole of life,— even to a 
small boy, — and killing is bad work. 

A frosty night, a full moon, 
old worn-out rabbit hound, 
and a good companion — 
and we are off for the per- 
simmon-trees that 


grow here and there scattered around the ponds 
along the lanes and about the margins of the 

It is the first of November. The persim- 
mons hang on their leafless twigs like big beads, 
silvered with a double plate — a wash of frost 
and a wash of moonlight. No wonder the 
possums like them! What boy does not like 
them, too? Here is a tree, a great sixty-footer, 
that bears only small puckery persimmons, no 
matter how the frosts bite ; but just beyond is 
a little tree — you know it — with large deep gar- 
net fruit, so sugary that they cannot spoil, and 
there you stop — if the possums have not already 
stopped before you. 

I have seen boys whom I have taken to my 
favorite trees get so greedy after the first taste 
that they could not take time to pick out the 
seeds, but swallowed the persimmons whole, 
until they simply had to quit. 

The possums also know these sugary trees ; 
their tooth is as sweet as ours. Here, nosing 
about on the ground or hanging by hind feet 
and tails in the laden limbs, the boy will find 
them and start them, if on the ground, wab- 
bling off toward home. 

A fat possum can run faster than a dog that 
is dead and buried, but only a very little faster. 
He does not depend on his legs for safety ; 


7 6 



they are too slow : nor yet on his wits ; for they 
are still slower. He trusts very largely , 
to stump-holes, to luck, and to his dis- "$Tm$ 
tinguished slowness. 

No one is ever in a hurry with ' ^Tv:'',' . "<8» 
a possum. He is such a 
slow, simple dolt that no 
despatch, no precautions, 
are needed with him. He 
seems to have observed 
this, and takes advantage 
of it — which may mean 

that his wits are not so slow, after all. He 
will escape, if there is a way ; and if there 
is no way, he will sleep sweetly until one 

Besides these traits, there are several other 


" Count the little noses sticking out." 

habits that contribute to the possum's remark- 
ably successful battle for life and liberty among 
its hosts of enemies. First there is usually a 
large family. Count the little noses sticking 
out in the above picture. And there were five 
more than you see in the picture in this par- 
ticular family, that I caught one day beside a 

Again, the possum will eat anything that can 
be eaten — "fish, flesh, or fowl." Persimmons 
first, but they do not last the year round, so, 
between persimmon-times, chicken, corn, fish, 
frogs, berries, anything will do. Then, too, the 
colored people, as a rule, are the only people 
wise enough to eat possum ; and as he is not 
particularly destructive, and does not wear a 
hide worth curing, he is not seriously hunted. 


METHOD ALL THEIR OWN ""<£i**\ ^.v- 


All this, in large part, explains 
why the possum thrives about 
the edges of large towns and . 
thickly populated farm regions, 
where the coon, the rabbit, the 
mink, and the fox are rarely seen. 

And he does thrive. How numerous they 
are may be seen from the fact that one Christ- 
mas I received fifty-three from the woods about 
Bridgeton, New Jersey, and took them back to 
the • New England University for biological 
study. Of course the neighbors helped me. 
But all I had to do was to take a day's tramp 
among the wood-choppers and farmer acquaint- 
ances, making my possum-wants known, and the 
possums came in, in ones and twos and threes, 
costing ar most only twenty--five- cents -apiece. 
Long may he survive! I will be one to eat 
turkey this Thanksgiving instead of possum, 
and after dinner, when I 
take my woods-walk, I will 
be glad enough if Br'er 
Possum will let me see him ; 
and I will promise to do no 
more than tickle him on 
the nose with a stick to 
see him "die" — for he 
will come back to life 
again to meet me once 
1\ \ more in the woods. 

Dallas Lore Sharp. 





j-We will write t<» »5tNich«j,j 


This one word contains nearly as many let- 
ters as the five words so familiar to nature 
and science observers — "because we want to 
know." But the variety of expressions of the 
same state of mind is not limited to single 
words or combinations of words, long or short. 
Actions, in this matter at least, often speak 
louder than words. 

Perhaps the most concentrated, lively, 
pointed, and effective method of inquiry is 
that in common use by the hornets. Along in 
November a hornets' nest has been discovered 
in the bushes, and, of course, the young folks 
"want to know" whether the inhabitants have 
been killed by the frosts, so that the branch 
may safely be cut off and the nest carried 
home. Their plan is to throw sticks at the 
nest from a distance, or to punch it with a long 
pole, going nearer and nearer if no hornets 
appear. But the hornets do appear ! It is 
not late enough in the season ; the nights have 
not been cold enough. They appear in full 
force, in great eagerness to know why the 
young folks were disturbing their snug home. 

Perhaps the girls and boys running in the 
distance will " write to St. Nicholas " and 
tell us of this method of expressing curiosity, 
or at least of responding to curiosity. 

Mr. Dallas Lore Sharp has told us already of 
the fox's quiet method of expressing curiosity. 

(See page 938, Nature and Science for August.) 
And we all are familiar with the saucy curiosity 
of the red squirrel. We know how he will 
creep down the tree, tauntingly barking, till, 
with a laugh-like explosion of sound, he whirls 
and frisks up the tree, as if making fun of us, 
his curiosity now fully gratified. Soon his 
curiosity seems to return, and even increases, 
as down he comes inquiringly again, to repeat 
the whole performance with increased activity 
and daring. 

Of the birds, undoubtedly the blue jays have 
the most inquisitiveness. And they are the 
most noisy in expressing it ; although crows 
will hold a close second place, if not fully the 
equal. How the jays screeched and whistled 
and called — a confusion of all the sounds of jay- 
dom — near my home recently ! More than a 
dozen darted into a small evergreen tree on the 
lawn. People came from several houses in the 
vicinity, all curious to know " What is the 
matter with the birds ? " It seemed to be a 
" want to know " on both sides. The jays had 
discovered a cat walking meekly along by the 
fence in the low shrubbery near and under the 
spruce-tree. There was no nest in the vicinity, 
and, so far as could be ascertained, the cat had 
not attacked the jays. But what a pande- 
monium of jay jargon over one meek-looking, 
quiet cat ! The jays outdid themselves, and 
called out nearly all the occupants of the many 
houses on that street. 




description of a porpoise. 

New York City. 

Dear St. Nicholas : While visiting my cousins at 
Lawrence, Long Island, this summer, we went to Far 
Rockaway to bathe in the surf. And there I saw a sight 
which interested me greatly and made me wish to know 
something about it. 

It was on a warm morning, and my cousin and I were 
out near the end of the bathing-rope, when we saw what 
looked like a large black wheel going round and round in 
the water, making a great foam. There seemed to be 
two or three of these wheels, coming one right after the 
other in a line. On looking closer we saw shiny black 
heads rise above the water, followed so soon by the back 
fins that they looked like ears on the head. They came 
quite near the shore, sometimes disappearing altogether 
and then rising again, leaving a long track behind them. 
Men went out in boats after them, but they could not 
get near them, as they went very fast. Some one said 
they were sea-porpoises, and I would like to know about 
them, if you will please tell me. 

Your interested reader, 

Jacqueline Overton. 

The animal you so well describe is evidently the 
common harbor-porpoise {P/iocana communis). This 
is found abundantly on the east coast of North America, 
from Nova Scotia to Florida, and also in Europe, 
and sometimes ascends rivers into fresh water. It is 
known to the fishermen as "puffer," "snuffer," " snuff- 
ing-pig, " and " herring-hog." Droves of from ten to 
upward of two hundred herring-hogs are sometimes 
seen, and they may readily be recognized by their 
shining black color and rolling or wheeling motion. 
They never spring from the water as do dolphins, but 
bring their head, back, and back fin into view when 
they come to the surface to breathe. The nostrils are 
so situated on the top of the snout that the porpoise 
must assume a somewhat erect position in order to 
expose them to the afr ; the head, therefore, always 
comes out first, and this is quickly followed by the back 
fin. In descending from the erect posture, the body of 
the porpoise passes through a considerable part of a 
circle, and hence is produced the characteristic rolling 
motion. A little puff of spray from the nostrils and a 
curious grunt accompany the appearance of the head 
above the surface. Porpoises feed chiefly on fish, 


especially school-fish like menhaden and mackerel, and 
consume enormous numbers of such fish daily. They 
are hunted for their oil and hide. — II. M. Smith, As- 
sistant in Charge of Scientific Inquiry, Woods Hole, 


Ocean Grove, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Please tell me what is the dif- 
ference between a dolphin and a porpoise. 
Your faithful reader, 

Horace H. Underwood (age n). 

Popularly, the terms dolphin and porpoise 
are often used without distinction — that is, 

1 I 



both names are applied to a dolphin and to a 
porpoise. Strictly speaking, the common por- 
poise of the Atlantic coast is an animal known 
to scientists as P/wccena communis, and is about 
five feet long, with blunt head and a thick 
body that tapers toward the tail. Its name is 
from the Latin ponus, a hog, and piscis, a fish — 
the hogfish, and that literal translation of its 
name conveys a very good description of the 
animal, which is also called " herring-hog," 
"puffing-pig," etc. 

The common dolphin of the Atlantic Ocean 
[DelpJiinus delphis) is about six feet long when 
full-grown. The snout is longer and sharper 
than that of the porpoise, and its body is more 
slender. The dolphins often follow ships in 
large herds, performing gambols and acrobatic 
feats, to the great amusement of the passengers. 
This dolphin must not be confounded with the 
large pelagic fish which has the same name ; 
it is noted for its beautiful colors and for the 
brilliant changes shown when dying, and is 
often seen in mid-ocean chasing the flying- 


Faribault, Minn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : One day mama found a lot of 
soft gray fur and a queer little skeleton in one of the 
bedrooms of our summer cottage. 

One night a little while afterward I was up in the 
attic getting a fish-pole, when I saw a pair of sharp black 
eyes looking down at me. I knew that it was the same 



kind of an animal that my mother had 
found dead. But I did not know then 
what it was. It was not long, however, 
before my father saw one of them and 
told me that they were flying-squirrels. 
The one we found dead must have fallen 
down from the attic, and starved to 
death. The little squirrels we have 
seen are gray. Their breasts are white, 
their tails bushy but flat, and they are 
short, with plump little bodies. 

One night I saw a flying-squirrel in 
the trees. He did not fly upward, but 
spread out his " wings " and sailed from 
the top of one tree to the bottom of the 
next, using his flat tail to steer with. 
The little squirrels we had seen in the 
attic seemed to be so friendly that I 
thought they would make nice little pets, 
so I set some traps which I hoped would 
catch them ; but I never caught one in 
that way. But at last a baby squirrel fell 
down from the attic, and we caught it by 
dropping a towel over it ; then we 
picked it up carefully and put it into a 
squirrel-cage. Then there was so much 
noise in the attic that we went up and 
caught two more that werelooking for 
the missing one. When we put them 
into the cage they sat right up and 
began to eat some corn I had 
put in for them. One day I 
found a large bug. I put it 
into the squirrels' cage, and 
the next morning I found the 
bug's wings in the bottom of 
the cage. The squirrels had 
eaten the rest of it. Every 

night when it begins to get dark I take a lantern out 
and set it so that it lets just a little light into the cage ; 
then I watch the little squirrels for a while. When they 
first come out of the nest they go down and eat some- 
thing. They always eat the bark off the branches I put 
in for them to play on. But after they eat a few min- 
utes they are very lively, and play about like kittens. 
Sometimes when one of them gets something very good 
to eat the others will try to take it away from him. One 
night when I went out to watch them, a big fat wood- 
chuck got up and ran away. He had been crouching 
down beside the cage. I do not know if he meant to 
harm my pets or not. Last night we caught one more 
flying-squirrel, so I have four now. 

Florence Blodgett. 

the chewink, or towhee. 

Philadelphia, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : One day in the woods I caught 
several glimpses of a bird about as big as a robin, with 
white on each wing and the tail, and a great deal of 
black. It seemed to have some red on it, and its bill 
was blunt and stout. It was so exceedingly shy that 

the least noise scared it, and I could not 
study it at all. The next day I heard 
a great rustling in the leaves on the 
ground, and thought there must be a 
chicken scratching there ; so I crept up, 
but found the same bird very busy 
scratching in the leaves and eating seeds 
or insects. It did not notice me at all 
and I could watch it very well. It had 
a black head, throat, wings, back, and 
tail ; a good deal of white on the wings, 
tail, and in a streak down the belly; the 
sides and part of breast red-chestnut ; 
and the eyes red. After it discovered 
me, it flew away crying, " Chewink, 
chewink, chewink !" So I knew it was 
a towhee or chewink bird. 

Carol Bradley (age 14). 

While calling at the cottage of 
the Rev. J. D. King, Cottage City, 
Massachusetts, I noted that several 
chewinks were in the yard. He 
writes me as follows : 

Twenty-five years ago chewinks were 
very plentiful, but they disappeared al- 
most entirely till, a year ago last sum- 
the flying- mer, a pair of them came shyly into my 

squirrel. front yard, evidently in search of insects. 

They mixed freely with the robins, seem- 
ing to ignore their presence. They must have raised a 
nest of young ones in the neighborhood, for when they 
returned last summer, four or five additional ones came 
with them. They were evidently young birds. I threw 
out waste canary-seed in the back yard, which they very 
soon found, after which they were frequent visitors, fur- 
tive at first ; but in time they gained confidence, and my 
presence at a little distance did not seem to disturb 
them, though they kept very close watch upon me. But 
they gained more confidence when the grapes were ripe, 
or their appetites overcame their fears, for then they 
would allow me very close while feeding. I noticed that 
they knew a plump, ripe cluster when they saw it, very 
kindly leaving the poor fruit for Mrs. King to work up 
into preserves. 






{Cash Prize.) 
Because, to-day, I heard a merry tune 

Played in the city street, 
That ever rose above the city's noise, 

And laughed through all the sound of passing feet, 
I stood again in fancy by the sea, 
And felt its salt breath blowing over me. 

I saw the sky star-spangled as it was 

When first I heard that little giddy tune ; 

I saw the glory path of molten gold 

That stretched away to touch the rising moon, 

While in my ears the ceaseless city roar 

Sounded as breakers foaming 'gainst the shore. 

November is the birth month of St. Nicholas. 
Thirty years ago the first number of the St. Nicholas 
Magazine went out to seek its way into the homes and 
hearts of American boys and girls. Thirty years seems 
a long time to young people, and especially to those 
subscribers whose parents were among the boys and 
girls of yesterday who were first to open the door and 
bid our good saint welcome. There are houses to 
which St. Nicholas has been a monthly visitor ever 
since the first slender number so long ago, and the red- 
covered bound volumes have become worn and shaky 
as one generation after another of eager hands have 
carried them from shelf to table, from table to floor, 
and thumbed and turned the pages backward and for- 
ward through thirty years. 

How good those old numbers were! We early readers 
feel quite sure that no magazine to-day could ever be 
made quite so good as those. Certainly no magazine 
can ever be to us so real and true, and take us into that 
wonderful dream-world of real things that we found in 
those old pages. Ah, me! perhaps, after all, it is we 
who have changed, and the boys and girls of to-day 
will read and remember the numbers now with the 

same fondness that filled us for those of the bygone 
years. The past and the things of youth are always 
dear to us. Sadness and disappointment fade and are 
forgotten, but that which has given us pleasure seems 
to grow fairer with each year. The old game, the old 
study, and the old magazine are prized more and more 
as they drift farther from us, enhanced and glorified in 
the golden mists of memory. 

November is also the birth month of the St. Nicho- 
las League, and in the four years that have elapsed 
since the announcement of the new organization we 
have seen some of our boys and girls grow to be men 
and women and take their places among the art and 
literary workers on both sides of the ocean. Perhaps 
their names are not widely known as yet, but it re- 
quires no prophet to foretell that among them, and 
among those talented ones who are still working and 
striving month after month, resolved not to fail, be- 
lieving only in success, there will be found many whose 
names and work the world will be glad to recognize 
and to honor. 


In making awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

Verse. Cash prize, Rose C. Goode (age 17), Boyd- 
ton, Va. 

Gold badges, Marjorie V. Betts (age 14), 536 
Queens Ave., London, Ontario, Canada, and William 
Laird Brown (age 15), 26 N. Rigby Ave., Lans- 
downe, Pa. 

Silver badges, H. Mabel Sawyer (age 11), 611 N. 
4th St., Keokuk, Iowa, and Marguerite Borden (age 
16), Estero, Lee Co., Fla. 

Prose. Gold badges, Dorothy Eckl (age 15), 1641 
Reid St., Los Angeles, Cal., and Mary W. Woodman 
(age 16), Hubbard Park, Cambridge, Mass. 

Silver badges, Phyllis Valentine Wannamaker 
(age 14), 100 Highland Court, Elyria, Ohio, and Edith 
J. Minaker (age 11), Gladstone, Manitoba, Canada. 




Drawings. Gold badges, Ruth E. Crombie (age 15), 
40 S. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y., and Melville Cole- 
man Levey (age 15), 1988 Bush St., San Francisco, Cal. 

Silver badges, Helen Adele Fleck (age 16), 3202 
Arch St., Philadelphia, Pa., Anna Zucker (age 16), 
1614 S. Grand Ave., Los Angeles, Cal., and Dorothy J. 
Hamilton (age 9), 316 Pine St., Stevens Point, Wis. 

Photography. Cash prize, Robert Y. Hayne (age 
14), San Mateo, Cal. 

Gold badge, Carl Matz (age 16), 606 E. Division 
St., Chicago, 111. 

Silver badges, Freda Messervy (age 12), Norton, 
Shawford, Hants, England, Gertrude M. Howland 
(age 10), Conway, Mass., and Fonda Cunningham 
(age 9), Tarpon Springs, Fla. 

Wild-animal and Bird Photography. First prize, 
" Cedar Bird and Young," Dunton Hamlin (age 15), 
Box 82, Orono, Me. Second prize, "Crow," Elea- 
nor Houston Hill (age 9), 1102 Grove St., Evanston, 
111. Third prize, "Young Flicker," Frederick L. 
Gates (age 16), 172 Union St., Montclair, N. J. 

Puzzle-making. Gold badges, Margaret Abbott (age 
13 ), Hendersonville, N. C, and Samuel Wohl- 
gemuth (age 16), 202 Stanton St., N. Y. City. 

Silver badges, Marjorie Holmes (age 14), 704 
N. Palafox St., Pensacola, Fla., and L. Arnold 
Post (age 14), Stanfordville, N. Y. 

Puzzle-answers. Gold badge, Lillian Jack- 
son (age 12), 1301 Franklin St., Wilmington, 

Silver badges, Norton Woods (age 14), Mau- 
mee, Ohio, and Bessie Garrison (age 13), Aus- 
tin, Tex. 



(Gold Badge.) 

As, glorified by golden haze, 

The mountains gleam afar, 

So glow the joys of other days, 

So sweet their mem'ries are. 

The distant hills more brightly gleam — 

More fair, though far away. 
So old-time fishing journeys seem 

More bright and fair to-day. 

The calm, sweet earth was green around, 

And fresh with morning dew ; 
Above, the sunrise glory crowned 

A vault of stainless blue. 

Through sluggish deep and babbling shoal 

The creek in shadow flowed; 
It loitered past the swimming-hole, 

It murmured by the road. 

' The rods were only saplings green, 
The fish we caught were small ; 
Yet were those bygone days, I ween, 
The happiest of all. 

And never do the bells of joy 

Such lovely music chime 
As to a careless, healthy boy 

In dear vacation-time. 


{Gold Badge.) 

Vivace. ( J = 144 ) 

If you who are studying music have never played or 
heard the eighth one of Bach's two-voiced inventions, I 
can only say, see that you do. 

In these modern times it seems sometimes as if Bach 
has been relegated " to the shelf." But, all the same, 
Bach was and always will be the King of Music. All 
the delicate modulations of Wagner, all the grandeur of 
Beethoven, had been given to the world long ago by 
Johann Sebastian Bach. I have only to refer you to 
his "Fantasia Cromatica " — oh, well, I am going to 
speak of his eighth invention now. 

I learned it when I was about ten years old, and it 

St. Nicholas League membership is free. Send for a 
badge and instruction leaflet. 



has been growing up with me ever since. And the 
story that I made up to it then I will relate now. 

The time is early morning. The sun has taken his 
beauty sleep, and is all ready to be admired. 

The scene is a large green meadow, a few trees, a 
path running from east to west, a fence, and a gate. 
All is serene. 

Then up the path from the east conies a dapper little 
gentleman of grandfather's time, -with frills and tucks 
and laces, etc. — a " dudish " little man, and on he 
comes, prancing and balancing his cane. 

What is he doing so early ? Oh, well, never mind. 

But, lo and behold! From the west dawns another 
little man, a counterpart of Gentleman I. At the 
gate they meet. 

And then there is a bowing and a bending, and 





" Oh, good morning," says Gentleman I. " My dear 
sweet sir, I am — " 

" Oh, good morning. How charming — " 

" Pray what brings you at this early hour? " 

" And you? " 

Then they both chime in : 

" Is it not superb — the sunrise? " Then Gentleman 
I sniffs some breath, and Gentleman II continues : 

" My dear sir, in all secrecy — I would not disturb 
your peace of mind, 
but — " 

" Prav do not trou- 

" The people say of 
late you seem to be 
less particular of your 

" Sir!" 

More bowing on the 
part of Gentleman II. 

" Oh, let it not dis- 
turb you, sir. My dear 
sir, I — " 

' ' Do not mention it. 
Only a momentary at- 
tack of anger." 

" Let us exchange 
the heavenly snuff, and 
a good morning to 

" Sweet blessings 
on you." 

And both together : 

" Good morning. " 

And they depart. 

If you do not know 
the delightful little 
piece of music you can- 
not be interested. But 
that 's just my point. 
You should know it. 

The St. Nicholas League 
is an organization of St. 
Nicholas readers. Any 
reader of this magazine, 
whether a subscriber or 
not, may become a League 
member and compete for 
prizes. A badge and in- 
struction leaflet will be 
sent free on application. 




{Gold Badge.) 

MlKEY found himself floating swiftly through the air. 

How high up he was, and what a delightful sensation ! 

The air was soft and he was gliding so smoothly 
and easily along. 

Often a look of pity crept over his freckled face as 
he saw the people shiv- 
ering on the streets 
'way, 'way below ; then 
again a smile at his 
own warmth and hap- 

Why was he so 
warm, while those on 
the snowy streets be- 
low drew their cloaks 
tightly about them ? 

In one little hand 
Mikey held fast his 
telegrams — such a lot 
of them ! 

There seemed to be 
one for every house ; 
but how easy it was ! 

He did n't have to 
ring the bell, and stamp 
his cold feet until the 
door was opened. No, 
not he .' 

Why, all he did was 
to drop his telegram 
above the house, and 
see the yellow slip 
grow smaller as it 
drifted down. Then, 
as the message glided 
nearer to the house, a 
hand came up from 
the roof-top and took 
it in. 

At every house a 
telegram was sent 
whirling downward, 
and each time a hand 
came out of the roof 
and drew it in. 

How queer it was 
that the message 
should always fly 




down exactly right, to be received by that mysterious 
hand ! 

Would Mikey's telegrams never be delivered? 

No matter how many were dropped down into the 
mysterious hand, his own hand was as full as ever. 

This made no difference 
to Mikey, for he was having 
such a blissful time gliding 
so softly, gently, peace- 
fully through the air. 

Suddenly he felt his foot 
hit against a tall pine-tree, 
and then — 

Why, where was he ? 

Where were his tele- 
grams ? 

He heard a voice say, 
" Hey, Mikey, what air 
you a-doin'? Sure, an' de 
boss be a-huntin' for yez." 

Then the truth flashed 
upon him that it was all a 
foolish, foolish dream. 

At the familiar click, 
click the tired little tele- 
gram-boy rose, rubbing 
his wondering eyes. 

" Anyhow," he whis- 
pered, with a decisive nod 
of his little head, "when 
I grows up I '11 invent 
wings, so 's messenger 
boys can fly." 

So, still wondering, the 
child started again to do 
his share of duty in this 
great world. 



{Gold Badge.) 

Vacation is n't over yet ; 

There still are weeks to play; 
Yes, weeks and weeks before we fret 

O'er school-books all the day. 

The silver moon still shines at night 

Out of a starlit sky. 
The days are very fair and bright ; 

They have not yet passed by. 

The woods are still a dainty green ; 

The birds still loudly sing, 
As glad as ever they have been 

Since the first touch of spring. 

The waves are rolling mountains high, 

The sky is nice and blue, 
The gleaming sails go racing by ; 

And all of this is true. 

Yes, all is real as real can be, 

And all is joyful, glad. 
For me, / have no memory 

For what I have n't had. 

My holidays are n't over yet, 

I have n't had them all. 
Don't ask me to remember them 

Till later in the fall. 



{Silver Badge.) 

Of all wonderful inventions, my choice is the piano. 
Not because it is so useful 
or necessary (for I might, 
possibly, live without it), 
but because it gives to me 
such quiet enjoyment. It 
soothes my ruffled or in- 
jured feelings, and makes 
me thoughtful. It always 
quiets me. 

It has a story of history 
and improvement which 
begins as far back as the 
Middle Ages. Among the 
many stringed instruments 
at that time were the clavi- 
chord and dulcimer. The 
dulcimer was a stringed in- 
strument laid across a ta- 
ble and played by leather- 
headed hammers. The 
clavichord had a keyboard, 
but was played by plucking 
the strings. 

Christofale, of Florence, 
Italy, in 1 711 combined the 
keyboard and hammer 
ideas into a rude piano. 
It was called the clavi- 
chord-cymbalum, and later 
the forte-piano {forte mean- 
ing loud and piano soft). 
The name afterward be- 
came reversed. 

In 1716, Marius, of Paris, 
independently invented a 
piano, and about the same time Shroedter, in Germany, 
invented another. 

Johann Stein and Anton Walter made notable im- 
provements on the Shroedter make of pianos. Mo- 
zart played on these kinds, and Beethoven played on 




8 4 





others made by Stein's daughter, 
Mme. Streicker. One of the lat- 
ter makes may be seen now in 
Windsor Castle. 

Pianos were introduced into 
England in 1766 and into America 
in 1784; but those imported into 
America were ruined by the severe 

In 1790, John Hawkins con- 
ceived the idea of upright pianos ; 
but not until 1815 was the making 
of pianos taken up as an American 

The day of the square piano is 
past, and the upright is fast taking 
its place, as it does not take as much 
room, and has a softer, deeper 
tone. Even the grand piano is not 
much better, its only advantage 
being the greater volume of sound. 

age 15. 


I ask for naught but my line and rod. 
With a running stream and the restful sod. 

We 've wandered over dale and hill, 

My fishing-rod and I, 
Always to stop by some silvery rill 

Where the fish go darting by. 
With my rod I spend each vacation day, 
And pray with my heart that I always may. 



(Silver Badge.) 
Nurse had gone out and left Baby Teddy in Amy's 
charge. Amy was his sister, and was exceedingly fond 
of books and reading. Just then she was trying to fin- 
ish a very interesting story in the St. Nicholas, but 
Teddy objected. He was cutting teeth, and was just 
about as cross and fretful as a baby can be. Amy had 
been playing with him, and now was tired. Reading 
stories was so much nicer than amusing babies! 

The staid, lazy old tabby-cat napping on the rug 
guessed what made them so unhappy, and racked her 
brain to invent something to amuse the baby. At last 
she hit upon a plan, but it was 
very distasteful to herself. The 
only thing that a cat could do, she 
thought, was to try to be a kitten 
for a while. 

So up she sprang (for she could 
be quick when she pleased). She 
caught the dangling string of Ted- 
dy's pinafore between her paws, 
and clawed and bit and pulled it. 
Amy looked up from her book, 
hurriedly finished her story, then 
ran and got some string. Poor old 
Tabby chased and raced after it un- 
til nurse came in. Then as she lay 
down for a long nap, she thought, 
" It 's all very well to amuse ba- 
bies, but when you have to trans- 
form yourself from a staid, sedate 
old cat into a frisky young kitten, 
it 's rather hard work." 

So from Christofale's crude invention has been formed Though she was convinced of the success of her inven- 

the modern piano, which affords so much pleasure, both tion, she thought she would not often try it unless Teddy 
quiet and gay, for all people. was very cross and Amy very tired of amusing him. 


(Silver Badge.) 

The June breeze brought from the far-off hills 

The scent of the new-mown hay, 
As we sat on the banks of the running rills 

And fished and dreamed away. 
And what cared we for bee or fly 
While we had each other, my rod and I ? 

The shimmering trout went swimming by 

As we lay in the cooling shade, 
And we loved each other, my rod and I, 

In the loneliness of the glade. 
For no man upon the living sod 
Loves aught as I love my faithful rod. 

Then as the noontide sun rose high 

Our basket of lunch we sought ; 
We dined together, my rod and I, 

As together we dreamed and wrought. 


1903. J 




(AGE 16). 

{Silver Badge.) 
(Teddy speaks.) 
I went to Aunt Matilda'* home, 

A farm with apple-trees, 
To hunt fer frogs an' polliwogs 
An' birds an' bumblebees. 

In the fall, as the bulb becomes larger and more buoy- 
ant, if the stone to which the lower end is attached is 
small, the kelp frequently lifts the stone off the bottom, 
and, with it firmly clasped by its roots, floats ashore. 

If the kelp is fastened to a rock too heavy to move, 
it has to be broken off by the storms, and can be found 
in great masses piled up on the shore. 

At this season the Indians from near-by valleys come 
to the coast and gather it, dry it, and use it as food. 

I have seen kelp over twenty feet long, washed up on 
the beach, with its roots still clinging to a stone as large 
as a man's two fists. 

When dried the kelp becomes very tough. 


(Bob speaks.) 

I wish that outside 't would stop snowing, 

I wish that the ice would go 'way, 
I wish that the wind would stop blowing, 

And 't was summer-time just for one day. 

I am tired of this wild wintry weather, 

This room is so stuffy and warm ; 
I think of us ten boys together, 

And the fun we had out on the farm, 

One day I picked a paper ball 

A-hangin' on a tree ; 
An' bugs with wings an' awful stings 

Came flyin' after me! 

An' you jus' guess I hollered loud, 

An' ran the fastest race — 
With hurtin' lumps, such dreadful bumps, 

A-comin' on my face! 

I tum'led in the fishin'-pond, 

An' could n.'t make a sound ! 
Oh, my ! Oh, my! I thought I 'd die, 

Fer I wuz almos' drowned ! 

Those happy days are over, an' 

I 'm learnin' spellin' now — 
An' 'rithmetic jus' makes me sick! 

I 'd like to see a cow! 



In the little bays on the Pacific coast can be seen 
large quantities of kelp floating on the surface of the 

The kelp is brown in color and is like a long, slender 
tube. At one end it enlarges into a hollow bulb about 
as big as a ball, which keeps it afloat. The other end 
fastens on to stones and rocks, and so anchors itself. 

~""~~— ~ _ 


' ■ ' % * '" ' ' 


'■'■' it £• ■'■■"• '"^Si WSJ 



Jj -*fe.,„ 


I-- jt 



When 't was August, and uncle was haying, 

And all of us boys went along, 
And bothered the men by our playing, 

And joined in the haymakers' song. 

And one day I went with them " in swimmin'," 
Not afraid of the scolding I 'd get ; 

And nurse, who 's the sharpest of 
Found out, 'cause my hair was so 

Now Thanksgiving and Christmas 
are nearing, 
And I 'm home with my books and 
my toys ; 
But outside it is cold, white, and 
And I long for the farm and the 






"Ethel, Ethel! come here!" shouted 
Julia, from the gate. Ethel dropped her 
sewing and ran to meet her sister. 

"What is it, Julie? What is the mat- 
ter? " 

" Read it ! read it !" cried Julia, giving 
Ethel a newspaper. " Read it, quick, 

" ' A prize of $5 will be given for the 
best invention made by a child under fif- 
teen. There will be two second prizes of 
$3 each, bee next page for rules,' " read 
Ethel. Then she dropped the paper, ex- 
claiming, " That 's the best thing ever hap- 
pened to us, Julie! If either of us wins 
the prize, it will be enough, with what we 
have, for both bicycles. And your bird- 
snare and my toy water-mill will do nicely. 
Oh, how fine !," 

For several days the girls spent most of 
their spare time in getting their inventions 
ready, till the time came and they were sent 
away. Meanwhile Baby Elsie had been 
asking questions and thinking things over. 
One afternoon she came to Ethel and announced, " I 
has made a 'vention, too. Turn see." 

She trotted on before her sisters till she reached a 
fence inclosing a blackberry-patch. This fence was too 
high to climb easily, and the children always had a hard 
time getting over it. She ran along beside it, the curi- 
ous girls following, till she came to a low place. There, 
built on sticks and stones piled up clumsily, was a little 
contrivance, half ladder, half staircase, made of logs. 
" Dat 's my 'vention," said Elsie, proudly. " I '11 det 

lots of money for it." 
" Lots of money 
for that thing! " cried 
Julia. " Oh, baby, 
what nonsense! It 
is n't worth a cent! " 
Elsie's lip trem- 
bled for an instant ; 
then she ran, crying, 
toward the house. 




Grandpa was smoking in the garden, when, sudden- 
ly, baby rushed up, sobbing out something about "bad 
dirls " and "'vention." When he understood, he 
picked her up and walked toward the fence. 

" Don't cry, baby. If you '11 show me your inven- 
tion, I '11 make everything all right. Those naughty 
girls sha'n't laugh at you. Is that it? Why, baby, 
that 's fine! Run get your supper, and I '11 fix things 
for you, never fear!" 

A week later Julia announced that she and Ethel had 
won second prizes. But, happy as they were, Elsie 
was happier, standing beside her grandfather with a 
brand-new dollar bill clasped in her fat hand. Grand- 
pa had made it all right. 


(A Former Prize-winner. ) 
Oh, a gay little rover was I, with school over! 

No thought then of going away ; 
For all through vacation, with childish elation, 

I rode my " Brown Bess " every day. 
She would toss her small head as onward we sped, 

And strive to unseat me in fun ; 
But with a light tip on her side from the whip, 

Oft" faster than ever she 'd run. 
'T was dash o'er the hills ! 't was splash through the rills I 

While over the meadows we 'd fly, 
If you heard a great clatter, and found out the matter,. 

'T was only my pony and I. 
When we came to red clover, I 'd slip the reins over 

And let her enjoy a sweet bite ; 
At a shake of the rein she would toss out her mane, 

And dash off again with delight. 
In the cool shady rill she could drink there until 

Her thirst was quite quenched, one could tell; 
Then I 'd turn her around, and off she would bound. 

For home, ere the night shadows fell. 
Oh, my little brown pet, I think of you yet 

As I jingle these holiday rhymes ; 
But vacations no more are the same as of yore — 

I 'm too big for those jolly old times. 





The good times are over, No climbing of trees, 
With frolic and play ; No sails on the bay, 

No races in clover, No lying at ease, 

But school all the day. But school all the day. 




BY JEANNETTE a. schiff (age ii). 

Printing was first invented by Gutenberg in 1441, 
but the first English printer was William Caxton, who 
is supposed to have been born about 1422. For many 
years he lived in Bruges as governor of the English 
traders. When he was forty-seven years of age he be- 
gan to translate from the French a book about the 
Trojan War. Not long after, he entered the service of 
the Duchess of Burgundy, to whom he presented his 
translation in 1471. So many people wanted 
copies that he grew tired of writing and be- 
gan to think of printing. 

Caxton learned the art from Collard Man- 
sion, a printer in Bruges, who had his print- 
ing-press in a room over a church porch. 
The book was printed, and also another 
called " The Game and Playe of Chesse," 
which was published the following year. 
After an absence of thirty-five years, Cax- 
ton returned to England, bringing with 
him a primitive printing-press of Collard 
Mansion's type. This he set up in West- 
minster Abbey in the part now known as 
the Sanctuary. 

In the fourteen years Caxton lived there 
he printed and published eighty books, one 
quarter of which he translated himself. 
Caxton died in 1491. His chief assistant, 
Wynkyn de Worde, succeeded him in his 



At fair Lake Placid I 'd often row, 
Hardly caring where to go. 
Some like to walk, and some like to ride, 
And some people like in the woods to bide. 
What I like best I hardly know, 
But I 'm very sure that I like to row. 
Just to skirt along the shore, 
Gliding on for an hour or more, 
Past little beaches and pretty bays, 
Watching the squirrel at merry plays, 
Hearing the wood-birds' fairy songs, 
And seeing them flying around in throngs. 

And of my memories one of the best 
Is being out on that broad lake's breast, 
.__$>. '■■).-, Seeing the hills and the deep blue skies, 

\And the bright sun set and the pale moon rise. 
,,' .,- '• What I like best I hardly know, 

But I 'm very sure that I like to row. 



" The telephone was invented in 1876 by Alexander 
Graham Bell." So Jack read from his history, as he 
nodded over his lesson. "Telephone — 1876— Alex- 
ander — Graham — Bell." Eyes winked faster, head 
bent lower, and the draft from the hall fluttered the 
pages of the book over, one, two, three at a time ; and, 
finally, over went the cover, too, with a — 

Bang! Jack jumped up and looked around with wide 






(Spent in a Public Library.) 


(A Former Prize-winner.) 

A sunny room with cool green 

And pictures here and there, 
The gently moving ferns and palms, 

A carved and winding stair. 

The murmur of a baby's voice, 

The pat of tiny feet, 
The funny papers round the room, 

And laughter low and sweet. 

Low shelves on shelves of chil- 
dren's books, 

The children's eager rush, 
The sharp hiss of a new-torn page 

And then the breathless hush. 

Thus memories come crowding back 
Of child and book and rhyme, 

The happiest days I ever spent 
In one vacation-time. 

eyes. Instead of the old familiar room, the desk and 
book-case, the well-known carpet and wall-paper, whose 
patterns had often been so carefully studied in the vain 
attempt to find arithmetic answers hidden away among 
the leaves and flowers — instead of all this there was — 
Jack wondered what there was n't! 

The room was full of all sorts and descriptions of 
machinery. At least, it looked like machinery at first ; 
but when Jack looked sharply at one piece, lo and be- 
hold, there sat a little jumping-jack of a fellow, 
really nothing but a long piece of wire with a cylinder 
at each end of it, arms and head coming from one cylin- 
der, feet from the other. He was labeled : "Invention 
of the Telephone, 1876, by Alexander Graham Bell." 

" Goodness!" said Jack. 

The next was a tiny steamboat, two bulging eyes at 
the prow, arms from the port-holes, feet at the stern : 
" Invention of the Steamboat, 1807, by Robert Fulton." 

Jack stared, then went on to the next: " Invention 
of the Phonograph, 1877, by Thomas A. Edison." 
Jack gasped when he saw the 
figure below the label — a little 
box of a body, two little arms 
and two little legs, and a big 
round gaping mouth. 

In spite of his fourteen years, 
Jack thought of " Why, grand- 
mother, what a big mouth you 've 
got!" And then there seemed 
to come from out the mouth of 
the" Invention," "All the better 
to eat you up with!" 

And Jack took to his heels and 
ran — ran till he bumped against 
something hard, and straightway 
found himself on the study floor. 

"I 'm going to call that place 
the ' Hall of Invention,' " he told 
Billy, next day. " I 'm going to 
make believe all the inventions 
are funny fellows with labels on 
them. I guess I won't miss in 
history to-day. " And he did n't. 




We always had fun when we stayed with Aunt Sue, 

There were so many things for us children to do. 

We used to go fishing for trout in the brook, 

With a cane for a pole and a pin for a hook ; 

We used to have picnics, with plenty to eat — 

Buns, cookies, and apples and plums that were sweet. 

We used to take rides on "Satsuma," the cow, 
And play hide-and-seek in the clover haymow. 
When evening came, with the moon full and bright, 
Aunt Sue would tell stories, to our great delight. 
When summer vacation comes next year anew, 
I hope they will send us to visit Aunt Sue. 



Robert Fulton was the first man to make a steam- 
boat. He and his friend used to 
fish in a flat-bottomed boat. 
They made it go by poles, but it 
was very hard to make it go that 

So Fulton and his friend made 
two paddle-wheels, and fitted 
them in the boat so they could 
turn them with their hands. 
This worked finely. 

When Fulton was older he 
thought that he could make a 
bigger boat and have larger pad- 
dles and have them worked by 

So he got a big boat and put 
an engine in it, and made some 
big paddle-wheels, and then he 
launched it ; but the engine was 
so big and heavy that it sank. 

But he made a bigger boat 
and put another engine in it, 
and made some big paddles. 




There were lots of people on the banks, and they 
were laughing at it, for they were sure it would not 
work ; but when it really started, they thought it was 
bewitched, and they were very frightened. But it kept 
on going up the Hudson, and then it turned around and 
went back to New York. Its name was the "Clermont." 


(A Former Prize -winner. ) 

In the school-room now I sit with my head upon my 
hand : 

I can hear the tiny wavelets as they break upon the sand ; 

I can see the smoke of steamships trailing black against 
the sky ; 

I hear once more the sighing wind and the whistling 
buoy's cry. 

How I long to sit beneath the pines — my favorite re- 

And look out across the waters where the bay and 
ocean meet! 

The little church on the hilltop and the bay stretched 

blue below, 
The restless waves of the ocean moving ever to and fro, 
The bluffs and the blazing camp-fires and the pine-trees 

straight and tall, 
The racing tides of the ocean, and the moonlight overall — 
It all comes back, and I long to sit once more in my 

cool retreat, 
And hear the booming of the waves where the bay and 

ocean meet. 

The fisher-boats that up the bay at quiet anchor lie, 
The mountains that rival in blueness the blue of the 

summer sky, 
The waves that beat against the reefs and storm a coast 

The gulls and stormy petrels that circle round and round, 
It all comes back with the sighing wind, and 1 long for 

my cool retreat, 
And the foam and the white-capped breakers where the 

bay and ocean meet. 

Around the lighthouse tall and 

still the sea-birds circling fly, 
Or lose themselves in the mist 

and fog that cover sea and 

So memory roves, and fancy, till 

I long to hear once more 
The cry of the whistling buoy 

and the breakers on the 

shore ; 
I long to wander through the 

ferns or watch from my cool 

The surging of the waters where 

the bay and ocean meet. 


(AGE 10). 

(Leaving Baltimore.) 
Come to the " Howard's " mas- 
sive bow, 
For she is raising anchor now ; 
The sun is setting o'er the sea, 
The vessel from the shore 

must flee. "deep woods.' 

Vol. XXXI.— 12. 

"the dee? woods. 1 


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gp&l ■;. .. l 


a^JSiSS iSSirt 

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6K2fi^ if tip - >ii9^^H 


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■if ^ : "^r 

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"^ '''".M 1 1 1 



He- ,-, 

'<■ .'JSst'"^* 

Gaze at the disappearing land, 

The grassy fields, the golden sand, 

The smoky town so far away 
Dim in the twilight of the day. 

About us and above us, too, 

Doth stretch a vast expanse of blue; 

'T is turning now to dusky gray 
As in the west doth end the day. 



The locomotive was first invented by George Trevi- 
thick. It was a small model made for running on com- 
mon roads. George Stephenson next invented a loco- 
motive to run on rails. He was 
given money to make it by Lord 

In a competition which took 
place several locomotives were 
entered, George Stephenson's 
being one of them. His loco- 
motive was called the "Rocket." 
It was the pioneer of the type we 
see now, and took first prize. 

The introduction of locomo- 
tives in the United States pre- 
ceded its introduction to the con- 
tinent of Europe, three locomo- 
tives being sent over in 1 829, 
and the South Carolina Railway 
being laid in 1828. 

The mileage of construction of 
the United States then began to 
keep pace with that of the United 
Kingdom. In 1830 the United 
States began to take the lead, 
which it has ever since main- 

The United States has better 
railways than any other country 
in the world. The largest loco- 
motive works in the world are 
k. radcliffe, age 14. in Philadelphia. 




-A., )iCA)lN6 fof\ HoVE-MBE^ 



No. I. A list of those whose work would have been 
published had space permitted. 

No. 2. A list of those whose work entitles them to 
honorable mention and encouragement. 


Margaret I. Larimer 
Ellen Dunwoody 
Alfred Patmore Clarke 
Alberta Cowgill 
Edith Taylor 
Doris Francklyn 
Emily Rose Burt 
Mary Swenson 
Ethel Steinhiller 
, Louisa F. Spear 
Jessie Freeman Foster 
Philip Stark 
Mary Clara Tucker 
Katherine Ashby 
Bessie White 
Marie J. Hapgood 
Teresa Cohen 
Maude N. White 
Frank P. Abbot 
Harold R. N orris 
Beth Howard 


Sue Dorothy Keeney 

Ora Ringwood 

Horace Hotchkiss Holly 

Bert Durden 

Katherine Kurz 

Mark Curtis Kinney 

Delia H. Varrell 

Kate Huntington Tiemann 

Rebecca S. Rutledge 

Agnes Churchill Lacy 

Mildred Quiggle 

Helena Marco 

Alice Braunlich 

Elizabeth Q. Bolles 

Ruth Reeder 

Harriet Evelyn Works 

Walter Miilvihill 

Bertha C. Herbst 

Mary J. Wooldridge 

Elizabeth Lee 

Miriam C. Gould 

Mary Yeula Wescott 

Helen Emerson 

William Aimison Jonnard 

Bertha V. Emmerson 

Marguerite Marcher 

Ruth Tolman 

William A. Dunlap 

Irene Weil 

Clara Shanafelt 
Therese H. McDonnell 
Mary Blossom Bloss 
Mary Smith 
Marguerite Weed 
Morris G. White, Jr. 
Susan E. Miller 
Claudia Stella Blount 
Robert Strain HI. 
Dorothy Lee 
Barbara Tower 
Helen A. Scribner 
Virginia D. Keeney 
Frances Benedict 


Sydney P. Thompson 

Cornelia N. Walker 

Edward Taylor 

Charlotte R. Prentiss 

Margaret Douglas Gordon 

Elsa Clark 

Muriel M. K. E. Douglas 

Tula Latzke 

Margaret Wrong 

Helen M. Spear 

Ada Harriet Case 

Willia Nelson 

Ivy Varian Walshe 

Ruth McNamee 

Grace Richardson 

Julia Coolidge 

Celia Lewis 

Florence Wade 

Hazel M. Hartman 

Louis Brown 

Dorothy Place 

Vincent M. Ward 

Elizabeth McCormick 

CharlotteChandlcr Wyckoff 

Bennie Hasselman 

PriscillaC. Goodwyn 

Bessie Stella Jones 


Louise F. Preston 
Abbe H. Aaron 
Lelia S. Goode 
Vivian T. Freeman 
Lawrence Grey Evans 
Dorothy Webb Abbott 
Marjorie Du Bois 
Earl D. Van Deman 

Margaret Minaker 


Frederick D. Seward 

Marion Hayward Tuthiil 

Elsie Flower 

Helen Welles 

Anna Campbell 

Harriette Kyler Pease 

Lucie A. Dolan 

Olive Benbrook 

Harold S. Barbour 

Caryl Porter Smith 

N. Antrim Crawford 

L. G. Phillips 

Olga McCormick 

Elizabeth Parker 

Harriet R. Fox 

Florence O. Stinchcomb 

Fanny J. Watson 

Elsa van Nes 

Mildred Verral 

Avis K. Stein 

Marjorie Heath Baine 

Katherine Carr 

Edmund de S. Brunner 

Anna Kress 

Marjorie Sawyer 

Katharine J. Bailey 

Alma Eckl 

William A. R. Russum 

Marion Dillard 

Phyllis M. Critcherson 

Carol S. Williams 

Lewise Seymour 

Mary Nimmons 

Charlotte M. H. Beath 

Margaret L. Garthwaite 

Hilda M. Ryan 

Leon Knowles 

Dorothy Kuhns 

Mildred Ransom Cram 

Conrad P. Aiken 

Ruth B. Hand 

Edith Muriel Andrews 

Helen Greene 

Katharine Forbes Liddell 


Joseph McQuirk 
Katherine Dulcebella Bar- 
Zula J. Bottenfield 
Eileen Lawrence-Smith 
Margaret A. Dobson 
Caroline Latzke 
Stella Weingarten 
Katherine Maude Merriam 
Grace Leadingham 
Pauline Croll 
May Lewis Close 
Evulie C. Flagg 

Marion Jacqueline Overton 
Meade Bolton 
Joseph B. Mazzano 
Edith Plonsky 
Florence Ewing Wilkinson 
Shirley Willis 
Frances R. Newcomb 
Elizabeth Osborne 
Margaret McKeon 
Sara D. Burge 
Rene Kellner 
Helen M. Brown 
Isabel Reynolds Krauth 
Irene Gaylord Farnham 
Vieva Marie Fisher 
Dorothy Gray Brooks 


Phoebe Wilkinson 
Margaret Goold Harder 
Charlotte Morton 
Elsa Falk 

Winifred Bosworth 
Paul Dundon 
Sara E. Philips 
Lester T. Hull 
Margaret Jane Russell 
Mildred Curran-Smith 
John P. Billings 
Edith Park 

Cantey McDowell Venable 
Thomas S. McAllister 
Walter V. Johnson 
Samuel Loveman 
Albert Eisner, Jr. 
Mary Eleanore George 
Gladys Ralston Britton 
Ella Elizabeth Preston 
Elise Donaldson 
Richard M. Hunt 
Katherine J. Abbey 
Ethel Ayres 
Margery Bradshaw 
Ethel Land 
Lucile Ramon Byrne 
Dorothy Sherman 
Dorothea Clapp 
Philip Little 
Richard A. Reddy 
Julia Wilder Kurtz 
Edward Toth 
Elizabeth Stockton 
Ruth A. Reed 
Roger K. Lane 
Florence Mason 
Emily W. Browne 
Harriet Constance Grist 
Louise Robbins 
Margaret Peckham 
A. Elizabeth Babcock 
Ruby C. Knox 

Harold Breul 
Frances S. Loney 
Mary Hazeltine Fewsmith 
Paul A. McDermott 
Elizabeth Bacon Hutchings 
Helen Lovvry 
Alice M. Thoesen 
Marjorie L. Gilmour 
Marie Goebel 
Marguerite E. Schwinn 
Esterdell Lewis 
Edna B. Tuthiil 
Jeannette Ormal Sherwood 
Frances A. Chapin 
Laura Burmeister 
Edna Phillips 
Mabel Everitt Roosevelt 
Maude G. Barton 
Lillian M. Andrews 
Ethel Messervy 
Elizabeth H. Swift 
Gladys Jackson 
Jacob Bacon 
Constance Badger 
Eunice McGilvra 
Jeannette Fuqua 
Philip M. Ustick 
Sidney Edward Dickinson 
Helen A. Wilson 
Guinevere H. Norwood 
Joe Fern 
Marie Atkinson 
Bessie B. Styron 
Phcebe Hunter 
Katharine Sturges 
Dorothy C. Miltord 
Elise Urquhart 
Gladys Nelson 
Catherine Warner 
Katherine W. Wood 
Dorothy Applegate 
Edward Doyle 
Mary '1'. Taussig 
John Sinclair 
Dorothy Berry 
Adelaide Chamberlin 
Clara Goode 
Dorothy E. Robinson 
Marion D. Freeman 
Julia Morgan 
Katharine Thompson 
Marie Louise Mohr 
Robert Hammond Gibson 
Mary Hendrickson 
Dorothy Wormser 
Helen L. Toohy 
Harold L. Parr 
Katherine Gibson 
Frances Hale Burt 
Frank G. Tallman 
Edward Estlin Cummings 


Eugene White, Jr. 
James W. Young 
Laurence Macomber 
Gerlad J. Taylor 
Alice Fay 

Charles J. Heidelberger 
Katharine L. Marvin 
Marjorie L. Williams 
Nora Butler 
Michael Heidelberger 
Irene M. Mack 
Laurence Smith 
John P. Phillips 
John Dusenbury Matz 
Zella Jacobson 
George Schobinger 
Marguerite Williams 
Henry Hand Hickman 
Katharine Miller 


Catherine Delano 
Arthur T. Luce 
Paul B. Moore 
F. E. Norton 
Katharine McCook 
Teresa Browne 
Fred L. Herron 
Edward McKey Very 


Alice Mendelson 
Olive C. McCabe 
H. de Veer 
Catherine Evans 
Sophie P. Woodman 
N. W. Swayne 
Marguerite Warfield 

Alice Whitton 
J. Foster Hickman 
J. Parsons Greenleaf 
Hugo K. Graf 
Clarence Reed 
Abbott L. Norris 
Florence R. T. Smith 
Sarah W. Davis 
T. Sam Parsons 
Joseph F. Rumsey, Jr. 
Louise L. Obert 
Gertrude W. Smith 
Gertruydt Beekman 
Elizabeth Simpson 
Marie Russel 
Charles Ford Harding, 
John B. Jay [Jr. 

Mildred Easter 
Prescott Rogers 
R. Barton Parker 
Arthur Fuller 
Fred Scholle 
Chandler W. Ireland 
Patty Phillips 
Elizabeth P. Hubbell 
Lucien Carr III. 
Eleanor S. Sterrett 
Gilbert Honax 


Helen Dean Fish 
Eleanor Marvin 
Albert Zane Pyles 
Scott Sterling 
Mabel C. Stark 
George Powell 
Jean C. Freeman 



Margaret Stevens Erna Klinzing 

Florence Short Ernest S. Roche 

Alfred A. Haldenstein Clara L. Hays 

Rudolf von Saal 
Louis Stix Weiss 
Ethel Paine 
Lucille Frund 
Katharine H. Wead 

Clements Wheat 
Samuel P. Haldenstein 
Dorothy P. Tuthill 
Esther M. Walker 
Dorothy Carr 



Dorothy Child 
E. Adelaide Hahn 
Bonnie Angell 
A. B. Harrington 
James Brewster 

Alice L.'Halligan 
Elizabeth C. Beale 
Alma Mohrdick 
Corinne L. Paine 
Janette Bishop 
Edna Mason Chap- 


A few of our League contributors still insist upon rhyming 
"come" with "sun," and other words of irregular consonant 
sound. No ' ' poet's license " that we have ever seen permits this sort 
of thing. We believe Chaucer used to do it, but that was a long 
time ago, before the English language, and especially the rhyming 
portion of it, had fallen into careful methods and exact rules. A poet 
who rhymes "come** with "sun," or "break" with "slate," or 
"line" with "time," may perhaps win the plaudits of "kind 
friends and teachers dear," but never by any possible chance can he 
win a prize in the St. Nicholas League competition. The vowel 
sounds are more flexible. It is allowable when in a very difficult 
place indeed to couple "blade" with "said," "tune" with 
"moon," and "more" with "war," though such things are to be 
avoided ; but to link different consonant endings — it is almost too bad 
to talk about ! 

Some League members from Athens, 111., have sent us a copy of 
a little paper entitled " The Only Thing." It is a type-written 
sheet, and very creditable to the young editors. Some of the per- 
sonals, however, are really so very personal as to make editing in 
Athens seem a perilous employment. For example : 

"Mr. Potts has a curly topknot, but is going away, we are sorry 
to say, to the land of the South, and ride on the train with a pipe in 
his mouth." 

Even the poetry of the above will hardly be an excuse for the 
young editors when Mr. Potts gets home. Another personal seems 
less dangerous but no less worth reprinting : 

" Mr. Ellis is a fine 
preacher. All that wit- 
nessed his last Sunday's 
sermon said it was grand, 
and it was. He began var- 
nishing the church to-day." 

One more, and then we 
will close: 

" Mrs. J. R. H en- 
tertained a party of fifteen 
guests at her home east of 
Athens. Such a big dinner 
was served that all fell the 



The St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver 
badges each month for the best poems, stories, draw- 
ings, photographs, puzzles, and puzzle-answers. 

A Special Cash Prize. To any League member who 
has won a gold badge for any of the 
above-named achievements, and shall 
again win first place, a cash prize of 
five dollars will be awarded, instead 
of another gold badge. 

Competition No. 50 will close No- 
vember 20 (for foreign members No- 
vember 25). The awards will be 
announced and prize contributions 
published in St. Nicholas for Feb- 

Verse. To contain not more than 
twenty-four lines, and may be illus- 
trated, if desired, with not more than 
two drawings or photographs by the 
author, and to relate in some manner 
to Abraham Lincoln. 

Prose. Article or story of not more 
than four hundred words. Title, 
" The Story of a Word," being the 
history of the origin, use, and evolu- 
tion of any word the author may se- 
lect (continued from October). 

Photograph. Any size, interior 
or exterior, mounted or unmounted, but no blue prints 
or negatives. Subject, " Sunlight." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash 
(not color), interior or exterior. Two subjects, "A 
Sketch from Memory," and "A Heading for Febru- 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the 
answer in full. 

Puzzle-answers. Best, neatest, and most complete 
set of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Wild-animal or Bird Photograph. To encourage 
the pursuing of game with a camera instead of a gun. 
For the best photograph of a wild animal or bird taken 
in its natural home : First Prize, five dollars and League 
gold badge. Second Prize, three dollars and League 
gold badge. Third Prize, League gold badge. 


Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed 
as " original " by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must 
be convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not 
copied, but wholly the work and idea of the sender. 
If prose, the number of words should also be added. 
These things must not be on a separate sheet, but on 
the contribution itself — if a manuscript, on the upper 
margin ; if a picture, on the margin or bach. Write or 

draw on one side of the 
paper only . A contribu- 
tor may send but one 
contribution a month 
— not one of each 
kind, but one only. 

Address all commu- 
nications : 

The St. Nicholas 

Union Sq., New York. 


the prize In response to the offer 

competitions. mac j e ; n the August num- 
ber, many interesting letters were' submitted 
containing the names of recent books (not al- 
ready too well known) for young people. The 
best letters were sent by these 


Robert Porter Crow (12), Shelby City, Ky. 
Geddes Smith (13), Orange, N. J. 
Clara Still (14), Middletown, N. Y. 

and a free subscription for one year is therefore 
awarded to each. If they prefer their prizes in 
books published by The Century Co., will they 
kindly write to this department, making known 
their preference promptly ? 

books recom- From the lists sent in we 


young readers, make a little selection 01 re- 
cent books which are praised by the competitors. 
It will be useful to generous friends looking for 
presents for young book-lovers. 

The Boy and the Baron 

A Dear Little Girl 

The Other Wise Man 

The Little Colonel Series 

The Outcasts 

A Real Queen's Fairy Tales 

Little Miss Muffet's Christmas 

The Young Colonists 

Smith College Stories 

Nathalie's Chum 

'Tilda Jane 

The Story of a Living Temple 

School of the Woods 

Beautiful Joe's Paradise 

The Thrall of Leif the Lucky 

The Ward of King Canute 

Nan at Camp Chicopee 

The Half-back 

The Princess of the Purple Palace 

Golden Numbers 

The Posy Ring 

For the Freedom of the Sea 

The Grip of Honor 


Two Girls 


The Fairy Queen 

Boy Life on the Prairie 

The Master Key 

Adeline Knapp 
A?ny Blanchard 
Henry Van Dyke 
A. F. Johnson 
W. A. Fraser 
Carmen Sylva 
S. M. Crothers 
G. A. Henty 
J. D. Daskam 
Alice C. Ray 
Marshall Saunders 
IV. J. Long 
Marshall Saunders 
O. J. Liljenkrantz 
O. J. Liljenkrantz 
Myra Hamlin 
Ralph Barbour 
W. M. Graydon 
K. D. Wiggin and 
N. A. Smith 
C. T. Brady 
C. T. Brady 
E. D. Deland 
Amy Blanchard 
Alice C. Ray 
E. Brooks 
Hamlin Garland 
Frank L. Baitm 

Of course there are other books as good, but 
these are given as having pleased our young 
correspondents, and as being likely to please 
others of the same age. Letters speaking of 
books for the young are always welcome in this 
department, whether containing praise or blame, 
since it is our wish to keep our readers informed 
about the newer juvenile books, and especially 
to record those most notable. 

the new Since this number is the 

volume. fi rs t of the new volume, it is 
now fitting to advise that the numbers be kept 
and bound. The cost of putting a half-year's 
magazines into book form is a trifle, and the 
pleasure of reading St. Nicholas in a bound 
book is more than a reward. Besides, the mag- 
azine contains mainly articles of permanent 
value, and as a young reader accumulates the 
volumes he makes up a little library of increas- 
ing use and worth. If it should happen that a 
reader outgrows St. Nicholas (many a grown- 
up has never done so, but finds it good reading 
always), there are always other young readers 
in the family. There is usually more danger that 
the magazine will be read to pieces than that it 
will be neglected, and no library for young peo- 
ple is better worth keeping. This is the time 
to begin your library, if you have not already 
kept your numbers together. 

the two It must never be forgotten 

elements. that in reading there are two 
things necessary — the book and the reader. It 
is not difficult to-day for us to provide the first. 
Books are cheap, plenty, and accessible every- 
where. But precisely as books increase in 
number and become familiar, it is harder to 
be a good reader. When a book was a rarity, 
each one was a treasure. Its possession was 
eagerly sought and the book was likely to be 
really read. Imagine the boy Abraham Lin- 
coln when he had come upon a new book. 
How it was welcomed and cherished ! Every 
line was scanned and squeezed of its contents ; 
every worth-while thought was extracted, ex- 
amined, valued, and acquired. That was read- 
ing. So read, every good book nourishes the 




mind and the soul, and adds its own life to that 
of the reader. 

But be sure that an author is worthy of your 
reading before you give your time and thought 
to him; for, as good reading is beneficial, poor 
or ill-chosen reading is harmful. You must live 
all your life with your own brain, and should 
be always on the watch against admitting to 
its storehouses anything unworthy of you. The 
art of forgetting has not yet been learned. If 
some unwelcome intruder makes its way into 
the House of Memory, it may refuse to be 
ejected or destroyed. Sometimes such thoughts 
and notions are likened to weeds in the garden 
of the mind. But they are worse than weeds. 
Weeds can only give rise to others of the same 
sort, and possibly occupy space to the exclusion 
of useful plants. But harmful, weak, and erro- 
neous ideas do not remain apart : they mix with 
all your thoughts, as impurities mix with food or 
drink, spoiling the whole. The ideas in our 
mind are closely interwoven and even inter- 
mixed, and the materials of our thinking can- 
not be too carefully chosen. This is serious 
talk, but it may be found to contain a hint for 
thoughtful boys and girls. 

the time of All over the world there 

choice. are a bi e men an( j women 

studying and observing, and recording what 
they learn. They study the subjects that inter- 
est them, and it has been found that the taste 
for one kind of knowledge or another is likely to 
be formed just at the age when the boy or girl 
is upon the threshold of manhood or woman- 
hood. The world is then new and full of won- 
ders. Impressions are then most vivid, deepest, 
and most lasting. This is more easily under- 
stood by an example. So let us suppose that a 
boy in his teens, say between thirteen and six- 
teen, meets for the first time a very delightful 
sailor-uncle — one who has sailed the seas with 
a love for salt-water and an understanding of the 
charm to be found in travel and far countries; 
one who has also the gift of putting scenes into 
words, of telling his adventures and experiences. 


The days spent with such a companion may 
decide the boy's career. With a taste for art, 
he might become a marine-painter; with a love 
for adventure, he might enter the navy ; with a 
taste for natural science, he might study the sea 
and its creatures; or with a love for business, 
the uncle's talk might turn the boy into a mer- 
chant. But whatever the result upon that par- 
ticular boy, it has been found that impressions 
made at that age are the most likely to influence 
one's career. 

Is it not a fair conclusion that the choice of 
good reading is most important at the same age? 
The best writers — those 

whose work it is " to touch 
the heart, to kindle the imagination, to ennoble 
the mind," those authors who " set to music 
the pageantry and the pathos of human life, and 
keep alive in the soul the holy enthusiasm of 
devotion to the ideal " (as William Winter says) 
— are not always the easiest to read. Yet a young 
reader who gives up beaten because he may 
have to read a page or a paragraph twice in 
order to get its full sense is not very plucky. 

A new thought is always harder to take in 
than an old one ; and it is because great writers 
give you new thoughts that they refuse to be 
read by lazy-minded folks. It is a good plan to 
select some standard book that is hard to under- 
stand, and then conquer it. This is for the mind 
what wrestling is for the body — it makes men- 
tal muscle and gives alertness. 

In connection with your 

studies, you will often find 
there are books that will make the studies more 
interesting and easier to learn. Ask your 
teachers to tell you of such books. School-books 
usually cover so much ground in a brief space 
that they must leave out all the " stories " and 
anecdotes. School histories, for example, must 
necessarily be rather dull; but in connection 
with them are whole libraries of exciting, de- 
lightful, amusing stories. Your teachers know 
of these, and will gladly tell you of them ; or 
write to us and we will tell you. 



Engi.ewood, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken St. Nicholas 
now for three or four years, and I think it is the very 
best magazine printed. 

I must tell you about the funny time I had with our 
cats. We had a little black kitten, and her name was 
"Portia." She stayed with us for some time, but one 
clay she ran away, and we have seen nothing of her 
since. One day after Portia had gone, I saw sitting on 
our porch a black cat. Mother was in town that day, 
so I went to the door and asked her in. She came. I 
gave her something to eat, and she spent the night. 
The next morning she went. A few days ago a dear 
little gray-and-white kitten came walking up the hill. 
When she got to our house she stopped. I called to 
her, and she came in. She was dear. I got mother to 
let her stay, and I put a ribbon round her neck. The 
next morning, when the cook let her out, she went 
away. Well, on the day before yesterday, a funny lit- 
tle black-and-white kitten came around. She has stayed 
so far ; that is, she comes to supper and spends the 
night, eats her breakfast and goes away, only to return 
to supper again. Is it not funny? 

I am your loving and devoted reader, 

Elisabeth L. Whittemore. 

Wallula, Wash. 

Dear St. Nicholas : You are very interesting. I 
think if it were not for you I would have a hard time 
keeping myself company. When I get tired of reading 
I go out and play at my farm. I fenced it with a rail 
fence. I made little houses on it. 

Every evening some jack-rabbits come into our as- 
paragus-patch. I cannot think of anything more. I 
will end my letter now. Your interested reader, 

James L. Riley (age 9). 

Colorado Springs, Col. 
Dear St. Nicholas : You were a Christmas pres- 
ent to me last Christmas, and I like you ever and ever 
so much. You are the best magazine in the world. 
My brother took you for a few years before you had the 
League. I have never seen a letter from Colorado Springs 
in the Letter-box. I am eleven years old and my 
brother is seventeen. I have a clog named " Fluff," 
who is very cute. I must stop now. 

From your very interested reader, 

Dorothy Gardiner. 

P.S. I have a camera, and hope to take some pic- 
tures for the League this summer. 

Kula, Manila. 

My dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you 
for about two years, and I like you very much. I live 
on the side of a mountain called Haleakala, and mother 
has a farm here, and we have a lot of horses and cows 
and calves. 

My mother has two fine horses called " Thelma " 
and " Jubilee," and I have a nice horse called " Chest- 
nut," and my brother has a horse " Hapahaole." We 
go up the mountain for the calves on our horses, and 
sometimes we go for long rides. Your interested reader, 
Alexa G. von Temfsky (age 9). 

Los Angeles, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas: This vacation my brother 
Frederick and I, with my mother and father, took a 
trip to the Grand Canon of the Arizona. 

The canon is a mile deep and about thirteen across, 
and the coloring of the rocks is beautiful. 

One morning, about nine o'clock, Fred and I, with 
our lunch and guide, started down the Bright Angel 
Trail on ponies. 



About half-past twelve we came to some tents among 
trees, which, from the hotel at the top, look something 
like tombstones. After resting awhile we went on un- 
til we came to a large area of flat ground which is called 
the plateau. There we stopped to eat our lunch. We 
could see the river seven hundred feet beneath, and the 
top of the canon nearly a mile above. The river, which 
is quite wide, looked like a small stream, and the seven 
hundred feet about fifty. 

I thought perhaps some of the children who read St. 
Nicholas will some day take this trip, and they must 
not miss going down the trail. 

I inclose a picture of Fred and myself, taken on the 
plateau on the ponies " Alex" and " Tom." 
Yours sincerely, 

Helen E. High. 

Interesting letters, which lack of space prevents our 
printing, have been received from Mary D. Edmunds, 
Helen C. Long, Sara Ballen, Nannie Edmunds, Esther 
Davis, Louise Bird, Mary C. Hurry, Theodore E. 
Sprague, Annette Bettelheim, Charlotte B. Williams, 
Lesley Pearson, Katharyn Arthur, Hugh McLennan, 
and Henry L. Duggan. 



Wokd-square. i. Safe. 2. Acid. 3. File. 4. Eden. 

Geographical Cube. From 1 to 2, Belfast; 1 to 3, Barbary; 
2 to 4, Tripoli ; 3 to 4, Yenisei; 5 to 6, Alabama; 5 to 7, America; 
6 to 8, Addison; 7 to 8, Andaman; 1 to 5, Bata (Batalden); 2 to 6, 
Toba ; 4 to 8, Iron ; 3 to 7, Yuma. 

Insertions. Labor Day. 1. We-1-fare. 2. Lack-a-day. 3. 
Cab-b-age. 4. Inn-o-cent. 5. Ma-r-gin. 6. An-d-iron. 7. Prop- 
a-gate. 8. Bab-y-ish. 

Concealed Words, i. Chat, catch. 2. Dray, hydra. 3. Lore, 
enrol. 4. Wash, shawl. 5. Boot, taboo. 6. Wean, navew. 7. 
Sake, ukase. 8. Seat, tease. 9. Rent, stern. Primals, Chestnuts; 
finals, Hallowe'en. 

Diamond, i. T. 2. Bit. 3. Tiger. 4. Tea. 5. R. 

Concealed Central Acrostic. Labor Day. 1. Melon 2. 
Evade. 3. Table. 4. Float. 5. Arrow. 6. Cadet. 7. Again. 
8. Royal. — Concealed Words. "Thirty days hath September." 

Triple Acrostic. Initials, Cicero; middle letters, Virgil; 
finals, Caesar. Cross-words : 1. Civic. 2. Ivica. 3. Circe. 4. 
Edges. 5. Ruina. 6. Owler. 

Illustrated Primal Acrostic. Hallowe'en. 1. Hose. 2. 
Ark. 3. Links. 4. Lyre. 5. Oysters. 6. Wagon. 7. Eel. 8. 
Ear. 9. Nest. 

Interlacing Zigzag. From 1 to 10, Evangeline; n to 20, 
Longfellow. Cross-words: i. Defile. 2. Revolt. 3. Finale. 
4. Ogling. 5. Fading. 6. Sequel. 7. Sullen. 8. Railer. g^ 
Anchor. 10. Eschew. 

To OUR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the August Number were received, before August 15th, from Joe Carlada — Christine Graham 

— M. W. J. — Mabel, George, and Henri — Joyce Knowlton — Norton Woods — " Allil and Adi " — Amelia S. Ferguson — Lillian Jack- 
son — Bessie Garrison — "Chuck " — " Johnnie Bear" — Elsie Turner — Olive R. T. Griffin — Mary R. Hutchinson. 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received, before August 15th, from R. M. Jefferson, 1 — M. P. Dorsey, 1 — 
A. G. Gordon, 1 — C. G. Squibb, 1 — R. Cadwell, 1 — C. Holbrook, 1 — G. D. Ferguson, 1 — H. Wulfing, 1 — H. S. Jones, 1 — K. Lee, 
1 — C. H. Ober, 1 — D. Hungerford, r— C. P. Lacy, r — W. H. M. Hurlburt, r — E. Stevenson, 1— K. Royce, 1 — L. F. Lacy, 1 — 
Ruth Moss, 2 — G. R. Holmes, 1 — "The Spencers," 9 — C. E. Frazee, 1 — M. W. Pound, 1 — Emilie and Anna, 2 — A. B. and C. F. 
Harrington, 3 — Grace M. Buzby, 10 — Marion and Nathalie Swift, 9 — Wilmot S. Close, 7 — Nettie C. Barnwell, 4 — M. J. Thomas, 1 

— Laura E. Jones, 8 — J. Metcalf, 1 — M. Berry hill, 1 — C. W. Hawkins, 1 — Caroline Sinkler, 4 — Elizabeth Limont, 3. 


My first, an unknown quantity, 

Yet represents my second; 
If from it third should take my fourth, 

But two could then be reckoned. 

My fourth and second numbers are, 

My first and third are letters ; 
To whole themselves before the law 
Is often tried by debtors. 


I. A VIOLENT gust of wind. 2. A weapon of war. 3. 
To join or attach. 4. Odor. 5. Passages of Scripture. 
EDNA MASON CHAPMAN (League Member). 


{.Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

One word is concealed in each sentence. When these 
have been rightly guessed and written one below an- 
other, the diagonal (beginning with the upper left-hand 
letter and ending with the lower right-hand letter) will 
spell something that comes in November. 

1. The messenger she sent ran certainly very fast, but 
failed to reach here in time. 

2. Should you slip, persons of all ranks would run to 
assist you. 

3. Peleg, ancestor of Abraham, died at a very great 
age indeed. 

4. Have you ever seen pitch in great quantities ? I 
saw a barrel of it which had been buried by thieves. 

5. The troops in action fought bravely, but were soon 

6. In Paris I announced the coming of the great gen- 
eral to a large crowd. 

7. She did not throw the bag over, nor did she push it 
through the fence. 

8. That the recently captured fox is much tamer I can 
plainly see. l. Arnold post. 


I. I. A grain. 2. A gentle bird. 3. A large stone. 
4. Soon. 5. A bag. 6. Solitary. 7. Part of a teapot. 
8. A chill. 

From 1 to 2, a harvest poem. 

II. 1. A blemish. 2. A pain. 3. A Biblical name. 4. 
A small particle. 5. An outer garment. 6. A den. 7. 
A story. 8. To peel. 

From 3 to 4, the author of the harvest poem. 

KATHARINE H. wead (League Member). 


9 6 


This differs from the ordinary numerical enigma in 
that the words forming it are pictured instead of de- 
scribed. When the sixteen objects have been rightly 
guessed, and the letters set down in the order given, the 
hundred and twenty-one letters will form a quotation 
appropriate to the season, from one of our best-loved 

Picture No. i: 5-11-61-67-44-39-103-19-17- 76-43-63. 
No. 2: 91-83-57-96-33-10-66-24-9. 

24-36-74-7-34-I IO-25-107-82-20-59-93. 
1 0-102- 1 1 7-48-46-84-8. 
26-45-50-73-30-87-54-95-92-1 15-120-76-21. 
12-42- 104-85-108-13-55-89-80-3-32. 
10 : 121-60-35-69-55-1 16-3-67-80-101. 
11: 52-22-1 1 5-38-70-1 18-90-26-101- 1 1 1-6-56. 
12: 97-79-S9-5-100-82-68. 
13: 29-71-31-81. 
14: 15-49-12-78-27-62. 
•5 : 37-72-58-95-109-16-106-65-114. 

16 • S3- Il 3-ii9^4-H-i°S-4-9i-77- 

28 is served at five o'clock. 

a. r. w. and F. H. W. 






No. 8 

No. 9 

No. i< 

No. 1 

No. 1 

No. 1 






{Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. To form the second word take the last two 

letters of the first word, to form the third word take the 
last two letters of the second word, and so on. 

I. A juicy fruit. 2. Mild. 3. Extent of anything 
from end to end. 4. To beat soundly. 5. To shake 
with cold. 6. A valuable fur. J. The drink of the 
gods. 8. A fleet of armed ships. 9. A girl. 10. To 
pass away. 11. To look for. 12. To alter. 



(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

When the following words have been rightly guessed, 
and written one below another, take the first letter of the 
first word, the second letter of the second word, the first 
of the third, the second of the fourth, and so on. These 
letters will spell a familiar word. 

Cross-words : 1 . An inn. 2. To flourish. 3. A 
season. 4. Yearly. 5. To light. 6. Mien. 7. The 
sound made by a turkey. 8. A ring. 9. A modest 
flower. 10. To separate. II. Heed. 12. Terrified. 



(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

Add together : one fourth of four, one, five hundred, 
five hundred, fifty, one third of ten, one seventh of billion, 
zero, and ten, and you will find the sum in the St. Nich- 
olas Magazine. SAMUEL WOHLGEMUTH. 



{"The Bachelor's Doll " page ioj.) 


Vol. XXXI. 


No. 2. 

Copyright, 1903, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

Old Santa sat in his easy-chair, 
And his furrowed face wore a look of care; 
" It 's just a shame ! " 
He was heard to exclaim, 
'• I can stand it no longer, I declare ! 
For nineteen hundred years or so 
I 've done my best, as folks well know, 
To make the children happy and gay 
All over the world on Christmas day — 
To give them just what they wanted or needed; 
And I thought till now I had always succeeded. 
But, alas ! I have not," the old man said, 
As he mournfully shook his hoary head. 
1 Perhaps it 's because I 'm growing old ; 
But by my messengers I 've been told 
Some children don't like the gifts I bring ! 
That they even find fault, — ah, there 's the sting ! — 
And, worse than that," — here his voice sank low 
And his trembling old form shook with woe, — 
; They say — and it 's this that makes me cross — 
That they don't believe in a Santa Claus ! 
I should like to know, 
If that be so, 
Who has filled their stockings each Christmas eve 
With just the gifts they hoped to receive ! 




But such base and rude 

Makes kindness seem of no avail. 
I '11 put my business up for sale 
At public auction ; for I consider 
It 's wise to sell out to the highest bidder. 1 

Next day a big red flag waved o'er 
The lintel of Santa Claus' door ; 

Bell-ringers went out, 

Who tramped about 
And proclaimed aloud to the gathering crowd 
That the sale would be held at half-past four. 

The people ran to their doors to' see 

What in the world the commotion could be. 

They stood aghast 

As the criers passed, 
Proclaiming Santa Claus' decree. 

With voices strong, 

In a dull singsong, 
The criers cried as they went along : 
" Hear ye, I say ! 

Auction to-day ! 
Hear, all ye people along the highway ! 

Hark to the call ; 

Come one, come all ! 

Come to the auction at Santa Claus Hall. 

There will be sold 

Goods new and old ; 
Come with your silver and come with your gold." 

Wondering, the people all flocked to the 

And the auctioneer, 

With jovial cheer, 
Took up the startling tale. 
" Friends," he announced, " I offer you 
Marvelous bargains at this vendue. 

I shall sacrifice 

At a nominal price 
A well-established business route, 
Stock and fixtures and all to boot. 
In that direction observe, if you please, 
An immense, thick grove of Christmas trees ; 
While yonder forest, as you may know, 
Yields bushels of holly and mistletoe ; 

" Then there is a lumber-yard piled high 
With thousands of Yule logs, fine and dry; 

And there 's no use 

To try to produce 
Such a turkey or chicken or duck or goose 
As is found in the poultry-yard hard by. 

" There 's a factory in which all sorts of toys 
Are made for good little girls and boys ; 

And a paint-shop, too, 

Where they paint tops blue, 

Or a long strong sled 

Is painted red, 
Or pink cheeks put on a wax doll's head. 

" There 's a candy kitchen, where white- 
capped cooks 
Fling ropes of taffy o'er big bright hooks ; 
They make lemon-sticks 
And chocolate bricks, 
Butter-scotch, caramels, jujubes, pralines ; 
Peanut-bar, marshmallows, fudge, nougatines. 

" There 's another great kitchen, where more 

cooks make 
Mince-pies, plum-puddings, and frosted cake. 
There 's a press which prints carols and 

catches and glees 
To sing at Christmas jubilees. 




" Then out in the barn there 's a beautiful sleigh, Then something happened ! 
And eight prancing reindeer, high-stepping A rushing sound, 

and <*ay ; As if a cyclone had burst its bound — 

But time would fail Such a racket and uproar and hubbub and noise 

To go into detail As can only be made by irate girls and boys ; 

Of all the parts of this wonderful sale. 

And all in one lot 

It 's for sale on the spot, 
And as to the price I care not a jot. 

So what am I bid ? 

For I must get rid 
Of every toy and candy and carol — 
Of the whole complete outfit, lock, stock, 
and barrel ! " 

And with clamorous clatter and deafening 

A myriad children came scampering in. 
To Santa Claus' side 
They flew and they cried, 
" Oh, stop this vendue ! 
That tale is n't true ! 
We don't want another ; we want only 
you ! " 



They pulled down the red flag, and the poor And said soothingly, " There, there, don't 

Just fled for his life in a tumult of fear. 
While Santa Claus smiled 
At each furious child, 

worry, my dear." 
Then he turned to the crowd, 
And said, very loud : 
" This auction, I '11 now take occasion to 
Is postponed till some future indefinite 
date." __ 



By Ernest Thompson Seton. 

The Bachelor's Doll 

tple Baaley. 

HE was certainly a 
most bewitching doll. 
All the little girls who 
' passed by the great 
shop-window stopped 
and admired, until it came to be a com- 
mon thing to see a throng of small feminine 
adorers clustered close to the glass, discussing 
the charms of the big bisque baby. 

Now and then a boy stopped, too, hanging 
on the edge of the crowd, and marching off 
with head in the air if another boy came in sight. 

But the doll's greatest conquest was the 
Bachelor. Department stores were things out- 
side of his usual experience, but Christmas 
brought certain obligations, and so, once a year, 
he mingled with the crowds in the busy shop- 
ping district. Thus it came about that he saw 
the doll. He towered high above the heads of 
the little girls, so he could behold all the glory of 
the long white infant's gown, the embroidered 
coat strewn with pink rosebuds, the lace cap, 
the arms held out beseechingly to the passers-by, 
and the blue eyes with the fringed lashes, that 
reminded the Bachelor of some one else. 

" Is n't she sweet ! " rose the chorus of shrill 

The Bachelor did not really believe there 
could be a daintier doll. He had never seen 
one, at any rate. So he went straight to the toy 
department and ordered the doll sent home. 

When the long box came, the Bachelor car- 
ried it to his sitting-room and opened it. 
" Dandy," the Bachelor's cat, sat on the divan 
and watched the unpacking. 

" Now what do you think of that, Dandy ? " 
asked the Bachelor, as he held up the wonder- 

ful baby with the wavy yellow hair, the out- 
stretched arms, and the china-blue eyes. 

Just then some one knocked. The Bachelor 
threw the end of a Navajo blanket over the doll. 

" Will you have your dinner served now, 
sir? " asked Truxton, the Bachelor's valet. 

" Yes ; bring it up," was the reply. So the 
man brought the tray with the steaming dishes. 

" You need n't wait, Truxton," said the Bach- 
elor, as the man lighted a red lamp in the 
middle of the table. " I will ring when I need 
you." The Bachelor was dining very simply 
that evening. 

Then Truxton departed, and the Bachelor 
uncovered the doll. 

He piled the cushions up in a chair, so that 
when she was placed on top of them her arms 
lay on the table. Dandy was accommodated 
in like manner on the other side, and then the 
Bachelor, who was not old, but was very fond 
of fun, lay back in his chair and laughed. 

" There is nothing like having a sociable 
time," he said. " And, by Jove, she is a pretty 
little thing ! " Then he sighed a little as he 
thought of the other pair of blue eyes, for love 
of which he was still a bachelor. 

" She must have a name, Dandy. What do 
you think — of — of — of ' Bessie ' ? " he asked, 
and laid a bit of the fish on Dandy's plate. 
Dandy gave a soft " purr-up " of approval, and 
then ate his fish in a gentlemanly manner. 

" All right, Bessie it shall be" ; and with his 
gay laugh the Bachelor reached across the ta- 
ble" and shook hands with the blue-eyed doll, 
and called her by name. 

And that was the picture that Patty saw as 
she gazed from the window of the tall tenement 




opposite the rear of the Bachelor's apartment 
into the snowy night. 

Patty's bed was drawn close to the window, 
and as the curtains were never pulled down 
in the Bachelor's sitting-room, the little girl 
had learned to watch for the home-coming of 
the gay young gentleman each evening. 

When the red lamp was lighted Patty could 
see everything that went on, and in the long 
still evenings, when the pain in her knee was 
most severe, she lay back on her pillows, and 
watched the serving of the little dinners, and 
guessed at the dainties on the table, and saw 
Dandy petted as no cat was ever petted before. 

" Are you comfortable, dear ? " Patty's busy 
aunt would ask now and then, as she stopped 
to look in on the little girl ; but Aunt Bee was 
poor and kept boarders, and could not stay long. 

" Yes, thank you," Patty would answer; and 
she would watch and watch until it was time for 
the Bachelor to go out and Truxton to come 
and carry off Dandy and turn out the light. 
So when, on Christmas eve, the lamp was lighted 
in the room across the way, and the picture of 
the Bachelor and the cat and the doll flashed 
upon Patty's delighted vision, the little girl 
raised herself painfully on her pillows and gazed 




eagerly at the unusual scene. The doll seated 
at the table interested her most. 

" It 's a baby, Peggy Lou," she breathed. 
" It 's a baby — a real live baby." 

Peggy Lou was made of a towel, and was 
therefore rather flat-faced, but she was Patty's 
best beloved. All the joys and griefs of the 
little girl's life were whispered into her linen ears. 

Patty hugged her close. " No ; it is n't, 
either," she said again. " Why, Peggy Lou, 
Peggy Lou, it 's a doll — a beautiful, golden- 
haired baby doll ! If we were there, Peggy Lou," 
went on the little girl, in her soft voice, " we 
would hug her tight, would n't we, Peggy Lou ? " 

She leaned on her elbow again, her face 
pressed against the cold glass. 

"Are n't they having a good time, Peggy 
Lou ? " she said wistfully. '• They 're eating 
chicken, I think, and that nice man has given 
the baby some cream out of the cream-pitcher. 
I think he likes to ' pretend,' too, and maybe he 
is lonesome, and wishes it was a real little girl 
to have Christmas with," continued wise little 

When he was ready for his dessert, the Bach- 
elor removed the doll from the chair and care- 
fully set her under the table, where it was hid- 
den by the ample folds of the table-cloth. Then 
he rang for Truxton, who soon entered with a 
heaping plate of something pink on the tray. 

" Ice-cream, Peggy Lou," gasped the little 
watcher, and her feverish throat was dry with 
longing. " Would n't that taste good? " 

" Patty," said a voice at the door, " here is a 
bit of rice-pudding left from dinner. 'T is n't 
much, child, but I thought you might like it." 

" Oh, yes ; thank you, Aunt Bee," said Patty, 
gratefully, as she reached out in the dark and 
took it. 

" We '11 pretend we are at the party over 
there," she said to Peggy Lou, when the door 
had closed, " and that this is pink ice-cream." 

Dinner was over at the other house, and the 
Bachelor laid the doll back in her box and 
went away. Then Truxton came and picked 
up Dandy and turned off the light, and Patty 
was left alone with her pain and her thoughts 
and the darkness. But she whispered to Peggy 
Lou of the wonderful doll over the way, and 
fell asleep with a smile on her little white face. 

The next day was Christmas. Patty's aunt 
gave her a new red flannel wrapper, and one of 
the boarders sent her a small box of candy. 
Patty gave Peggy Lou the ribbon that came on 
the candy-box, and divided the candy with the 
servant who came up and straightened her room. 
The servant wished her a " Merry Christmas," 
and kissed her as she went out. The little 
girl's arm clung to her neck. " I wish you 
could stay with me, Hattie," she said ; but she 
did not complain when Hattie released herself 
gently and went down to get dinner for the 

Then began another long, lonely day for 
the little girl. She played with Peggy Lou, 
and wished that evening would come so that 
she could see the gay company opposite. But 
suppose the Bachelor had given the doll away ! 
Of course he had — men did n't keep dolls. 
She pressed her white face against the glass, 
trying to pierce the dimness of the room across 
the way. Thus it happened that the Bachelor, 
coming to the window with the doll in his arms 
that he might get a better view of her beauties, 
saw the thin, pale face of the child, and beside 
it the flat countenance of her strange towel 

The eyes of the child were fixed longingly on 
the beauty in the Bachelor's arms. 

The Bachelor nodded to her. " My dear 
Bessie," he said to the smiling bisque baby, 
" there is the kind of mother you ought to have." 

Then, with another nod to Patty, he turned 
back into the room. 

" I suppose, Dandy, that if I were like the 
Christmas gentlemen in books," he said, " 1 
would send Bessie darling straight over there 
to that poor youngster." He smoked thought- 
fully for a while, the doll lying on his knees. 
She was his one bit of Christmas. He had 
bought her as a boyish whim, but she had 
brought memories of a time when Christmas 
trees and turkey and candy made up one grand 
and glorious celebration. There had always 
been a little girl there named Bessie, and she 
had held in her arms just such a doll as this ; 
and now Bessie was grown-up, and her blue 
eyes were more beautiful than ever, but she 
was hard-hearted now — for the Bachelor loved 
her, and she would n't say " yes." 




He drew a quick breath. " No," he said to 
the doll; "I am selfish, and I want you." So 
he covered her up again with the blanket, lest 
Truxton should come in and think him silly. 

But he was n't comfortable; the little white 
face haunted him. Finally he rang his bell. 

" Do you know, Truxton," he asked, when 
the man came, " who that child is over there ? " 

Truxton went to the window and looked 

" Little lame girl, sir. My wife tells me that 
the poor little thing fell and injured her knee one 
day last summer; and now she can't go out." 

" Hum — too bad ! " said the Bachelor, and 
Truxton went away. 

All the morning the doll lay in the long 
white box, while the Bachelor yawned and read 
the magazines ; then lunch was served, and he 
took a nap, from which he was wakened by a 
ring at his telephone. 

He rolled off the divan and picked up the 

" Hello ! " he said indifferently. Then his 
face changed. All the gloomy restlessness went 
out of it, and his voice thrilled with joy. 

" That you, Bessie ? ' Will I come to dinner ' ? 
Oh, will I ! Bessie, you 're an angel. When 
did you get here ? ' At your aunt's ' ? A Merry 
Christmas, sweetheart ! You don't mind my 
calling you that, do you — not on Christmas 
day ? Why, of course you don't. I '11 say it 
again. Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Good- 
by, good-b — What 's that ? ' Bring my 
doll with me ' ? What doll ? What do you 
know about a doll? Well, I did n't suppose 
anybody saw me, but I don't care if yon did. 
No, dear; I won't bring my doll, thank you, 
for I think I have a better use for it. I don't 
wonder you thought I looked forlorn and 
lonely, but that was n't the real reason for my 
buying the doll. If you must know, it was be- 
cause it had eyes that made me think of some 
one I once — Hello, there, Central ! Hello! 
Don't cut me off! Hello! hello!" But she 
was gone. 

The Bachelor turned away from the tele- 
phone transfigured. He rang for Truxton. 

" Truxton," he said, as he flung off his dress- 
ing-gown, " I am dining out." 

Truxton's face fell, but he was too well trained 

to show disappointment. " You '11 miss a fine 
dinner, sir," he said. 

" It won't be wasted, though," replied the 

" I have a plan, Truxton," he went on eagerly. 
" Won't you and Mary run across the street 
and see if that little girl can't be carried over 
here, and then you can serve the dinner to her. 
They do such things in story-books, don't they ? 
And I declare I feel like a story-book man. 
Truxton," said the Bachelor, in a special burst 
of confidence, " I feel as if I were a prince in a 
fairy tale, for the princess has come." 

" Miss Bessie, sir ? " said Truxton, with a smile 
breaking down the gravity of his old face. 

" Yes, Miss Bessie ; and I am a happy man. 
It is really like a fairy tale, Truxton. And she 
shall be my fairy princess, if I have to carry her 

So Truxton and his wife, Mary, who did 
the work of a housemaid in the Bachelor's 
quarters, went over to the boarding-house, 
while the Bachelor piled up the cushions on the 
big divan, and found an old pink silk Japanese 
robe, and laid the big doll on the Navajo blan- 
ket, and hummed a little song as he rubbed 
Dandy's head. 

Soon Truxton and Mary came back with a 
big bundle of blankets, which being unrolled 
revealed a small excited child in the very cen- 
ter, with a flat-faced doll in her arms. 

" Put this around her, Truxton," said the 
Bachelor, and the pink silk gown was slipped 
over the red flannel one ; then Patty was propped 
up on the cushions, with the Navajo blanket 
over her feet, and the Bachelor introduced her 
to the doll. 

" She is yours," he said, and the blond, fluffy 
head was tucked close to the little girl's chin. 

" Oh, o-oh! " she said softly ; but she could n't 
finish,' it was all so overwhelming. 

The Bachelor had tears in his eyes. " You 
selfish pig," he was saying to himself. " Why 
did n't you do this before ? " 

But while the new doll lay on one arm of her 
new mistress, Peggy Lou lay on the other. For 
was not Peggy Lou the faithful companion of 
her adversity, and even for blue-eyed bisque 
babies Peggy Lou should not be laid aside. 

" You see," explained the Bachelor to Patty, 



gaily, " this is a fairy tale. I am the fairy 
prince, and — and — and — here is the fairy 
godmother who has helped me to win my prin- 
cess ! " he exclaimed, affectionately patting Bes- 
sie on the head. "She brought you to me, 
too," he added, " and now she is yours to com- 
mand. How 's that ? " 

And Patty clapped her hands and thought 
that was the best of all, that Bessie should be 
the fairy godmother. 

" I shall not be here to dinner," went on the 
Bachelor ; " but you are to have Dandy and 
Bessie and your Peggy Lou doll for guests. 
That will make just four, and Truxton shall tell 
you now just what you are going to have, so 
that you can give your orders if everything is 
not all right." 

" First, there 's blue-points, sir," said the 
beaming Truxton. 

Patty turned inquiring eyes on the Bachelor. 

" Oysters," translated that young man. 

" And consomme royal." 

" Chicken soup," said the Bachelor. 

" And fillet of salmon." 

" Fish," said the Bachelor. 

" And turkey and salad and fresh strawberry 
ice-cream and coffee," 

" Leave off the coffee," said the Bachelor, 
" and get some more sweets — candies, you 
know, and some of those fancy crackers that 
pull open with a snap and have tissue-paper 
things inside." 

" Yes, sir," said Truxton. 

" And remember," said the Bachelor to Patty, 
" that what you don't see you are to ask for. 
You know you have a fairy godmother now," 
he added with a twinkle in his eye. 

" I know," said Patty, gravely, although she 
was not quite sure that she did know. She 
thought that there never was such a delightful 
man. She had always " pretended " things and 
big people laughed at her ; but here was a 
grown-up man who could " make believe " just 
as she did. 

When Truxton had gone out, the Bachelor 
stood and looked down at Patty. There was 
something very touching in her little drawn 
face ; so he knelt by the divan and put his arm 

around her thin figure. Then he asked gently 
about her knee. 

Patty told him all about it. " The doctors 
said I might be cured, but it would cost an 
awful lot, for I should have to go away to a 
place they told Aunt Bee about. And of 
course she could n't afford to send me," she 
added patiently. 

The Bachelor smoothed her hair. 

" But you forget that you have a fairy god- 
mother ! " he said, drawing from his pocket a 
long pencil and placing it in Bessie's rigid fingers. 
" There ! Just wave her wand, and next week 
the pumpkin coach will come and take you and 
the fairy prince to the place where the doctors 
want to send you, and when you come back 
you will be well — I mean it, little girl," he de- 
clared, as Patty looked incredulous. 

Then Patty just put her arms around the 
Bachelor's neck and hid her face in his coat 
collar, and cried and cried for happiness ; and 
when the Bachelor went away to dress, he 
stopped in the dark hall and wiped his eyes. 

Truxton came in to set the table, and Patty 
watched him lay covers for four. At every 
place he put five forks, besides all the spoons 
and knives ; and there was a bunch of red car- 
nations at Patty's place, and one for Bessie, and 
one for Peggy Lou ; but Dandy had a button- 
hole bunch. And when everything was ready, 
Mary piled the cushions up high in the big 
chair at the head of the table, and placed Patty 
among them so that she was perfectly comfor- 
table, and she felt very grand in her pink silk 
robe. Dandy sat at the foot, and on each side 
were Bessie and Peggy Lou. 

Just as Truxton served the oysters on their 
beds of ice, the Bachelor came in, looking very 
handsome in his evening clothes. 

" Good-by, fairy godmother," he said. Then 
he leaned down close to Patty's ear. 

" I am going to see the fairy princess," he 

"Really?" whispered Patty, with shining eyes. 

" And when you are well, and I am married," 
cried the Bachelor, as he picked up his hat, " we 
will all live happy ever after ! " 

And they really and truly did. 



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Vol. XXXI.— 15-16. 












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ii 4 


Once upon a time, according to the greatest of poets, there lived, in the days of 
romance and in the city of Venice, a lovely lady named Portia. 

Portia was a beautiful blonde, whose sunny locks of red-gold hair hung on her 
temples like a golden fleece. The name Portia, moreover, means fortune-lady (just 
as " opportunity " means fortunate occasion), and, to justify her name, the lady had 
not only red-gold hair, but red gold of another kind also. This fortune had been 
left her by her father, who was a very wise man. He is really one of the most inter- 
esting characters of the story, for you will notice that, though he was dead, and none 
of the people except Portia had known him, yet he is also one of the most pow- 
erful personages in the story. Invisible, he arranges everything; and he, fearing 
that an undeserving man might become possessed of his daughter and of her money, 
had directed in his will that all who came as suitors should undergo a certain trial as 
a test of their sincerity. This was the test : 

He caused to be made three chests or caskets — one of gold, one of silver, and 
one of lead ; and in one of them, nobody knew which, was a picture of Portia. Those 
who came wooing had each one guess, and the first suitor who guessed rightly in 
which casket lay the picture, was to marry Portia. But before any one was per- 
mitted to choose he had to promise three things : 

i. Never to tell which casket he had chosen. 

2. If he guessed wrongly, never to marry any one else. 

3. If he failed, to go away immediately. 

In spite of these hard conditions, many suitors came from the four corners of the 
world. Rich marquises from France, haughty princes from Spain and swarthy ones 
from Morocco, dukes from Germany, barons from England, and many fine gentle- 
men of Venice came to seek this fortune-lady — each with a gay cavalcade of retainers 
and servants, blazoned before and behind with the coat of arms of their master. 

Now all these suitors were men who had only heard of Portia, but who traveled 
to Venice seeking her, and were willing to submit to the hard conditions of her father's 
will without having even seen her. From what they had heard of the radiant lady, 
of her worth and beauty, they had formed an idea or ideal of her in their minds; 




and this ideal was so beautiful that, for its 
sake, they were willing to risk much. The 
thought that each suitor had formed of the 
fortune-lady was different from the others' ideals 
of her, and was as good as that particular prince 
or nobleman was capable of thinking. (For 
some people can think higher than others, just 
as some people can throw farther.) Some, as 
her father had feared, thought of her wealth 
only, and her image, in their minds, was attrac- 
tive more for the shimmer of her gold than for 
that of her hair. Others, again, thought more 
of this sunshine round her head than of that of 
the warmth and brightness of her nature. Each 
had his own ideal of her. In some suitors the 
ideal was low, just as their characters were low, 
and they were not so willing to submit to con- 
ditions. But others were reigning princes 
of wide lands, and were of higher rank 
than Portia — rulers they, with crowns 
and scepters. Far away from their own 
land and from the midst of their courts 
her invisible attraction had drawn them, 
though they had never seen her. From 
what men had said of the beautiful Vene- 
tian lady, they had imagined what she 
was like, and she became in their thoughts 
so beautiful that they set forth for the 
sake of the ideal lady to find the real 
lady. The affection of such men was 
truly for the worth of Portia herself as 
well as for her riches, and they were pre- 
pared to undergo the trial designed by 
Portia's father. 

Portia, on her side, had to carry out 
her father's wishes and marry the suitor 
who was successful, whether she wished 
to or not; and "so," as she said to Ne- 
rissa, her waiting-maid, " is the will of a 
living daughter curbed by the will of a 
dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that 
I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? " 
To which Nerissa replied : " Your father 
was ever virtuous; and holy men at their 
death have good inspirations; therefore 
the lottery that he hath devised in these 
three chests of gold, silver, and lead (whereof 
who chooseth his meaning chooseth you) will 
no doubt never be chosen by any rightly but one 
who you shall rightly love." 

Portia was n't so sure, but she hoped so, for 
she was really in love with a young Venetian 
named Bassanio whom she had seen. Still she 
dutifully determined to carry out her father's 
wishes, and received courteously each suitor 
who came proudly and hopefully along to make 
his choice (though secretly she hoped each would 
choose the wrong casket). 

And rapidly enough the suitors came. 

Now Portia's father knew that when each 
suitor came to make his choice he would select 
the casket he liked best, whether he liked it for 
good reasons or otherwise. You can generally 
tell by what people like whether they are nice 
people or not. So he arranged that the right 
casket would only be chosen for some very 
good reason. One of the first to choose was the 


Prince of Arragon, and though, like every one 
else, he seemed doubtful which casket to choose, 
he at last took the one most in keeping with 
his own character, as Portia's father had fore- 




seen. First he read the inscriptions on the cas- 
kets. On the leaden one was a positive warning : 

Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. 

This did not seem attractive to his Highness, 
who thought to himself that lead would have to 
look much nicer before he would hazard much 
for it. On the golden box was the promise : 

Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. 

Now many men would have chosen that one, 
because they would have been attracted by the 



gold, and that was what Portia's father thought. 
Gold is what many men desire, and sometimes 
they think so highly of it that it takes the place 
of all other good things; for they suppose that, 
having one, all the others are possible. The 
Prince of Arragon was not so thoughtless as 
that. He knew it was unwise to choose only 
by show, and that there are things that look 

very nice outside (peppers, for instance) which 
are not nice inside at all. So, because the gold 
casket was so fine outside, he did not think it 
must be fine inside. The silver casket said : 

Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. 

Portia's father knew it would take a more 
thoughtful man to choose the silver casket than 
the gold — some one who would think of other 
things besides appearances. But he knew that 
any one who is willing to take only what he 
deserves either does not desire the very best (for 
very few of us think we really deserve 
the very best, though we would like to 
have it), or else he assumes desert — that 
is, thinks he is worthy of it without 
having worked to make himself so. 
The wise old gentleman, therefore, ar- 
ranged that any one who chose the 
silver casket should not get the very 
best, because, though any one who 
chose it might be thinking of very 
nice things, he would not be thinking 
of the very finest things. That was 
the mistake of the poor Prince of Ar- 
ragon. He assumed desert, and he 
really did deserve Portia if she had 
been only as fine as he thought she 
was. The difficulty was he did not 
think of her in the very best possible 
way, and she was really finer than his 
ideal. (He, I think, was something 
like the people who say they are very 
fond of music, and are content with 
not learning about it.) So, in spite 
of his sincerity and earnestness and 
thoughtfulness, he never attained his 
ideal, for inside the silver casket, in- 
stead of a picture of Portia, was the 
picture of a half-witted man (Arragon, 
you see, was half wise, not wholly wise), 
and with it a scroll which said : 

Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
Some have but a shadow's bliss. 

Arragon's ideal of Portia was just what the 
shadow is to the real thing. Portia's father was 
very learned about men and their ideas, and 
you see it was no easy matter to choose aright. 

Another of the suitors who came proudly 



II 9 

along, with high hopes and a glitter of retinue, 
was the Prince of Morocco. 

He was very fine in expression (but not so 
thoughtful as Arragon), and did not wish to try 
the caskets at all. He desired to prove his 
worth by some brave deed, something really 

BASS AN' 10 

•dangerous, to show how great his love was. 
However, it was not physical bravery only, but 
bravery of spirit also, that Portia's father had 
desired in his daughter's husband, so Portia told 
this dashing prince that there was only one test, 
and that was the one devised. Then Morocco, 
who was really very manly and good-natured, 
but not very deep, set his wits to work on the 
riddle. One can see that since he desired " to 
outbrave the heart most daring on the earth," 
he was one of the people who like to do plain, 
straightforward things they understand rather 
than think about things which are not very 
clear. So, naturally, the way he thought about 
the caskets was very clear and straightforward 

from his point of view, but it was not very deep 
thought. The lead he would have nothing to do 
with ; the silver seemed much more attractive : 
but when he came to the gold there was no 
hesitation in his mind that this precious metal, 
which was so fine and fair to see, was the only 
one fit to enshrine lovely Portia's picture. 
It was really a very gentlemanly way 
to think; but it is a mistake to please 
the eye rather than the heart, and to 
imagine that what seems very evident 
must be true (as if the sun moved round 
the earth, for instance). It was a mis- 
take, for inside the golden casket was a 
death's-head, with a scroll which said : 

All that glisters is not gold; 
Often have you heard that told. 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold. 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscrolled. 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 

So the bold, stupid Prince of Moroc- 
co, who chose right away the thing that 
looked best to him, felt that through ill 
fortune he had missed what one less 
worthy might attain, and he departed, 
loyal to his promise, but with too grieved 
a heart to take a tedious leave of the fair 
lady whom he had hoped to make his 
wife. Thus Arragon and Morocco with 
their ideals passed by, and Portia won- 
dered how many more would choose the 
caskets of gold and silver before the right man 
came for her to wed. 

When the next suitor appeared, however, it be- 
came more exciting, for he was no other than that 
young gentleman of Venice, Bassanio, to whom 
Portia was well inclined. But though she liked 
him .very much, she dutifully and sorrowfully 
determined to abide by her father's will, and 
Bassanio, like all the other suitors, had to risk the 
choice of the caskets. This time, however, in- 
stead of being afraid that the suitor would choose 
rightly, Portia had a dread that he might choose 
wrongly, so it was very interesting. Bassanio, 
in choosing, did not reason as the other two 
had. He knew that things which seem good are 



not always so ; that outward show is not all, and 
that ornament is deceptive : so the gaudy gold 
was put on one side. The silver as less rare 
was also refused. But the lead, — which seemed 
rather to threaten, — which it took courage to 
select and a knowledge that " common " things 
have great beauty within them as well as great 
usefulness — he knew that if he selected his 
casket for these deeper reasons rather than for 
its appearance, he stood just as good a chance 
as if he chose by outward beauty. So that was 
what he did : he chose by the inside instead of 
by the outside. He selected the leaden casket, 
and inside he found, to his great joy, Portia's 
picture and a scroll which said : 

You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair and choose as true ! 
Since the fortune falls to you, 
Be content and seek no new. 
If you will be well pleas'd with this 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 

So Bassanio won Portia because he chose 
with courage and looked not only with his eye 
but with his mind. And that is the story of 
Portia the fortune-lady and the three caskets, 
from which one may learn many things. 

There is, however, another story in the world 
about another radiant being and three other 
caskets, but this one is so true a tale that men 
have always lived it. I will tell you about it as 
I have told you Portia's story, only I cannot 
begin with " once upon a time," for this is a 
story of always. 

All the time, then, let us say, there has existed 
another beautiful being, whom we will call Vera, 
the true lady, just as Shakspere named his Por- 
tia the fortune-lady. Vera has always existed, 
and, like Portia's suitors, men have never seen 
her. But just as Arragon and Morocco and all 
the princes and nobles from what they heard of 
Portia formed a beautiful ideal of her, and trav- 
eled far to find her and were willing to do many 
things for her sake, so men from what they 
have heard of Vera have imagined her in their 
minds and for the sake of their ideals of her 
have done the deeds of love. 

There was nothing so exact about Vera as 

there was about Portia. No one knew where 
she was to be found; but over the blue sea and 
the lovely earth, in the loneliness of mountain- 
tops, and in crowded city bazaars, men have 
pressed after Vera, so strong was her influence 
and the longing people had for her. Still, none 
ever found her, but all, for the sake of what they 
imagined her to be, for the sake of their ideals, 
have loved her to some degree, and as she still 
remained invisible and they despaired of ever 
really finding her, these ideals became more 
precious and more real. 

Those stories are nicest, I think, that tell 
about three wishes, or three princesses, or three 
somethings ; so I will tell about Vera and three 
princes, how each sought her, and what each 
did for her sake. For, just as Portia's suitors 
had to consent to hard conditions to prove their 
sincerity, so all those who seek Vera have to con- 
sent to much harder ones. Many have endured 
suffering and all sorts of loss, but they have 
endured it to the end. Some have even died ; 
but when they died they held out their arms as 
if they saw Vera coming to them to reward 
their devotion. Not one of the princes of 
whom I shall tell you was able to win Vera, as 
Portia was won, through any choice of a casket 
containing her picture ; but, on the other hand, 
each prince, representing many men's hearts and 
hands, made a magnificent casket that embod- 
ied his ideal of her. And these caskets differed 
greatly from one another, according to the vari- 
ous builders' ideals of Vera. Portia was a beau- 
tiful Venetian blonde with red-gold hair; but 
men could only imagine how Vera looked. Some 
picture her as dark, with long wind-tossed hair 
and mournful eyes. Others imagine her as fair, 
with blue eyes and all the fresh and dewy bright- 
ness of an early summer's day. The ideal of 
some is a fierce and savage maiden, while some 
see her bending over them with a great protect- 
ing love. Portia and her red-gold locks and 
her red-gold fortune and her caskets three have 
passed away; but Vera, of beauty and power, 
still lives, and the caskets and the statues that 
the suitors made in her honor are still to be 
seen. Perhaps some day you to whom I am 
telling this tale will see them. 

The first suitor who made a casket to enshrine 
his ideal of Vera was one whom we will call 

Drawn by Maxfield Parrish. 
WAS WORTHY OF HIS IDEAL." (See page 122.) 



the Prince of Egypt, who lived and loved many 
thousands of years ago. He was a very worthy 
and lovable prince, too. He was very quiet and 
very earnest, and you could always depend upon 
him. The ideal that he had formed was a very 
beautiful one. When he saw that he could not 
find Vera anywhere in any particular place, he 
serenely imagined her as being everywhere, and 
she was thus the whole world. He said, " She 
is whatever is, or has been, and her veil no mor- 
tal has ever lifted" — which was his way of say- 
ing no one had ever seen her. The day was 
her waking and the night her sleep ; the breeze 
was her voice, the sun her eye, the flowers her 
jewels, and for the prince she was behind every- 
thing. Then he had this delightful thought: 
" When I die, I, too, shall see behind everything 
[for that is what men have always hoped], and 
then shall I find Vera." That was very joyful, 
and meanwhile he did not think that anything 
would be of very much importance until he died 
and found her. This idea made his whole life 
very happy, this certainty that some day he would 
see her, and all his life he looked forward with 
that steady, level gaze and serene, contemplative 
way he had. Then, in order to do her honor, 
he made a magnificent casket. It was made of 
stone, and carved all over it were pictures of 
Vera, and verses and petitions to Vera, and the 
thoughts of the prince about her. It was very 
high and very long, and built with patience as 
well as stone, and earnestness was the cement 
he used, and very wide and steadfast were its 
gates. It was all made of the biggest and 
heaviest stones he could find, for he wanted it 
to last a long time, and this was the reason. 
You see, just as in the fairy tales, where, when 
the prince marries the princess, they always live 
happily together ever afterward, so the Prince 
of Egypt imagined that when he found Vera, 
she would be his princess and they would 
live happily together forever afterward. He 
was continually thinking of this happy end- 
less time, and it seemed so long and so 
happy that the few years he had to live on 
earth before it began were quite short in com- 
parison. When he made his casket, therefore, 
he did not wish it to last only for the few years 
wherein he was so lonely, but for the " ever after- 
ward" when he was to be with Vera. That was 

why he made it so strong. The strength of his 
casket was a sign of the strength of his faith, 
and in that he was sublime. There was just one 
queer little thing in connection with him, and 
that was, he did not quite understand the differ- 
ence between body and spirit, and he thought 
that after he died he would require things to eat 
and wear and to use. In that one point he was 
like Arragon : he was n't wholly wise; but in 
others he was better, because he was the more 
thoughtful of the two; and while Arragon 
thought he was worthy of Portia right away, 
Egypt knew that he would have to work and 
wait before he was worthy of his ideal. There 
is one trouble with this story : you don't know 
the very end; but I think, if the truth were 
known, Egypt found Vera somewhere — over 
the edge of the world. 

The next suitor to seek for Vera and make a 
casket for her we will call the Prince of Greece, 
and a very different fellow he was from his bro- 
ther of Egypt. I always like to think of Egypt 
as a soft dark summer night that is so peaceful 
and quiet — just one big thing; while Greece 
resembled the bright glancing beauty of an early 
summer morning — all color and sparkle and with 
lots of things in it. I regret to say that when 
he was young he used to quarrel and fight vio- 
lently with all the other boys round, and he was 
always thinking how to get ahead of them, and 
looking out that they did not get ahead of him. 
On this account he became very quick-witted 
and clear-headed in a certain sort of way; for 
if you are playing a dangerous game like that, 
it is always a very good plan to understand 
very, very clearly how to play it, or else it is 
— well, dangerous. It was n't a nice way to 
play, for he became rather sly and crafty, and 
thought about himself too much. However, he 
learned to run well, and to jump and wrestle, 
and had a strong, graceful body. Then, as he 
grew up, he traveled a great deal, and saw 
much that interested him, and met many dif- 
ferent people, too, and talked over their ideas ; 
and he always retained his boyhood's habit of 
thinking clearly and understanding all that in- 
terested him. 

This is a very good thing : to understand 
clearly all that interests you ; but you must still 
be interested in things you don't quite under- 




stand. We all know how much we should lose 
if we should give up learning the things that ap- 
pear a little mysterious at first. That was what 
the Greek did. He did not like mysteries, and so 
he lost a great deal that would have made him 
more attractive. Nevertheless, he was a beau- 
tiful prince, with bright eyes and curly hair, fond 
of running and leaping, and interested in every- 
thing round him. He had not the patience and 
modesty and steadfastness of the Prince of Egypt, 
and he was having such a good time in the pres- 
ent that he did n't care to bother about the future 
(something like boys, I think, who hate to be 
asked what they are going to be when they grow 
up). In time he, too, heard about Vera, and, like 
all men, imagined her and sought her ; but when 
he could not find her in any particular place, he 
soon thought of her as being in everything. 
Not behind everything, — that was too faraway, 
too vague, and one of the things you can't think 
about quite clearly, — but in everything : the 
trees, the fountain, the sea, the river, the clouds — 
everything that gave a color and a pleasure to 
his life. Then, with his exceeding clearness of 
thought, he imagined her as stepping from the 
trees, looking through the fountain spray, and 
rising from the sea ; and the vision was so 
vivid that it was almost the same as if the ideal 
were real and he had indeed found Vera — as 
he thought she was, not as she really is. For 
he did not think of her in the very best way, 
you see, but only in a way that he was able 
readily to understand. His ideal, therefore, was 
a being like himself, only brighter and more 
beautiful and powerful and always young, but 
having faults such as he had, and the same 
hopes and fears. He did not think of a Vera 
so far above him as to be vague and uncertain, 
and he did not trouble about a future with her 
that was uncertain. He lived in the midst of 
bright, interesting things. So he imagined one 
more beautiful thing, and added it to his life. 
I don't think he was as gentlemanly as Morocco, 
because he was n't either willing to trouble about 
a mystery or to do brave things. And I think 
the difference between Greece wanting his happi- 
ness right away and only interested in the things 
round him, and Egypt waiting and longing for 
this all his life, with his serene gaze looking far 
away across thousands of years, is very great. 

Greece made his casket in the same way as 
he thought. Under the fair blue sky it rose, 
slender, stately, graceful, of wonderful propor- 
tion and with delicate lights and shadows. 
Gleaming marble, dull rich gold, bright vermil- 
ion, and dark bronze all helped to make it 
pleasing to the eye, and for such we love it ; but 
it had none of the beautiful trust and faith in it 
that made the casket of Egypt pleasing to the 
mind. It was like Morocco's golden casket, 
with its beauty all outside. 

Now comes the extremely interesting choice — 
that of the " youngest brother." He came to be 
so great and so powerful afterward, and to rule so 
many countries, that I hardly know what to call 
him. I think the " Gothic Prince " will perhaps 
be the best. Anyhow, at the time that the Greek 
Prince was making his casket the Gothic Prince 
was a little boy, but so weak and white that the 
vigorous, athletic Greek looked at him with 
amazement and scorn. But the Gothic Prince 
looked back again with a spirit so strong and so 
pure shining through his eyes that it made up 
for all his slight form. And he needed all his 
spirit, for he grew up through persecution and 
scorn. People found out he did n't like the 
same things they did, and at first they laughed at 
him, then they hated him, and then they perse- 
cuted him, and it took all his endurance to live 
through it. But in spite of all he conquered. 
Watchful and earnest he grew from a little 
weakly child into a slender, stately youth with 
the fire of courage and the clearness of truth 
shining through the wonderful eyes that had 
never flinched from attack or threat. He had 
not the wonderful muscular grace of body that 
belonged to the Prince of Greece, because he 
did not care so much about it ; but his strength 
was " as the strength of ten because his heart 
was pure." He had all the lovable qualities of 
spirit and mind, and a broad white forehead 
above the clear, deep eyes, which saw inwardly 
as well as outwardly, and a mouth that could 
smile very sweetly and tenderly. 

The reason why he was so disliked at first 
was because his ideal of Vera was different from 
that of all others. Even the wisest and oldest 
men said it was absurd when this child looked 
at the Greek casket and the Greek ideal and 
said that, beautiful and poetical as each was, it 





was not the highest possible. The fact is that 
the Gothic Prince did not think much about 
Vera's appearance at all. He thought of her 
as being far above himself in goodness, just as 
we think of people whom we like, when we 
don't think only of their looks but of what they 
are in character — of their "niceness." So it was 
not of Vera's looks that he thought, but of her 
goodness, her spirit; he formed an ideal, and in 
his love for her beautiful spirit he endeavored to 
be worthy of her by trying to be good also. This 
was a very much higher ideal than that of the 
beautiful Greek Prince. His ideal of Vera was 
so personal, of some one so like himself, that, 
though Vera to him was very beautiful and very 
clear, for that very reason she became less fine in- 
stead of his becoming finer; for the Greek's Vera 
walked and thought on his own level ; he did 
not have to raise his eyes. The Gothic Prince 
fixed those reverent eyes of his on an ideal so 
high that it was almost beyond the reach of his 
thought, and it required all his aspiration to at- 
tain it. 

When you think of the three princes and the 
three suitors they seem very much alike. For 
Egypt, who looked behind things, is like Arra- 
gon, who looked a little below the surface and 
chose the silver. They were both of them 
thoughtful and both fine, as they both had very 
high ideals. Then, Greece seems very like Mo- 
rocco — both very fond of action, both loving 
bright, beautiful surfaces, and each thinking that 
what seems so clear must be true. Then, Bas- 
sanio and our youngest prince, both brave of 
spirit, both putting aside outward show and 
looking inwardly, are alike also. And just as 
the beauty of Bassanio's casket was inside, so 
was that of the Gothic Prince. It was Vera's 
spirit he idealized, and with his spirit he loved 
her. So when he built his casket, it was of the 
inside he thought first, and less of the outside, 
and everything in it helped to strengthen his 
nature and raise it and make him finer and 
better. The casket of the Greek Prince was 
intended to be seen from the outside, and de- 
pended upon the sky and light for its beauty 
of shadow and glow. The casket of the Gothic 
Prince was meant to be seen mostly from the 
inside, and the outside world was nothing; 
everything tended to enable him to concentrate 

his thought on Vera and her beautiful spirit, and, 
like Bassanio, he attained her. He made the dis- 
covery that Vera really responded to his thought, 
and that, with thinking so much about the 
beauty of her spirit, her spirit had become a 
part of his own, and reflected in his nature were 
the beauties of hers. And then, his happiness 
was in continual thought of her, which meant 
continual companionship. Now see the differ- 
ence. For the Egyptian Prince, Vera was be- 
hind everything; for the Greek Prince, she 
was in everything ; and for the Gothic Prince, 
she was in his own heart — still invisible, but 

Now of course this is a story with a meaning 
— or what is called a parable. You have long 
ago guessed that, and perhaps you have dis- 
covered the meaning. I told you in the be- 
ginning this was a true story, and so it is. It 
is the story of three great ideals, as expressed 
in architecture : the old Egyytian ideal ; the 
ideal of Greece, or paganism; and the Chris- 
tian ideal. Vera is truth, or represents what 
men believed to be the truth of everything, 
and the caskets are the temples and cathe- 
drals. Men have had different ideals of what 
is the truth, and the difference in their ideals 
has been shown in the architecture of the 
temples they have builded. For the Egyptian, 
happiness lay beyond this life — for him To-day 
was nothing, and the strength of his building is 
the sign of it. For the Greek, To-day was every- 
thing, nothing lay beyond, and all favors he 
hoped for, he hoped for in this life ; so in the 
form of his temple are all the light, grace, and 
bright beauty with which he decked his life. 
But the dim interior of the cathedral reflects 
the command which the Christian received to 
look within his own heart. 

Now you puzzle all this out and you will have 
learned something. An ideal is a fine thing to 
have — indeed, older folks say that no lasting 
thing of importance can be accomplished with- 
out one. If you have a high ideal you do 
good things, but if you have a low ideal you 
do ignoble things. You are able to choose 
which you will have, for you must have one of 
some kind, and some day you will make or help 
to make a casket for an ideal of your own. 


By Henry Johnstone. 

Oh, Friday night 's the queen of nights, because 

it ushers in 
The Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying 

is a sin, 
AVhen studying is a sin, boys, and we may go 

to play 
Not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong 


St. Saturday — so legends say — lived in the 

ages when 
The use of leisure still was known and current 

among men ; 
Full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even 

as he wrought 
He 'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in 

pious thought. 

He loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his 

good old knees, 
And in a famous elbow-chair for hours he 'd 

take his ease ; 
He had a word for old and young, and when 

the village boys 
Came out to play, he 'd smile on them and never 

mind the noise. 

So when his time came, honest man, the neigh- 
bors all declared 

That one of keener intellect could better have 
been spared ; 

By young and old his loss was mourned in cot- 
tage and in hall, 

For if he 'd done them little good, he 'd done no 
harm at all. 

In time they made a saint of him, and issued a 

decree — 
Since he had loved his ease so well, and been 

so glad to see 
The children frolic round him and to smile 

upon their play — 
That school boys for his sake should have a 

weekly holiday. 

They gave his name unto the day, that as the 
years roll by 

His memory might still be green ; and that 's 
the reason why 

We speak his name with gratitude, and oftener 
by far 

Than that of any other saint in all the cal- 

Then, lads and lassies, great and small, give 

ear to what I say — 
Refrain from work on Saturdays as strictly as 

you may ; 
So shall the saint your patron be and prosper 

all you do — 
And when examinations come he '11 see you 

safely through. 


Vol. XXXI. — 17-18. 



By Ralph D. Paine. 

After Peking had been captured by the allied 
armies, and peace restored to the battered and 
besieged legations, the city became a peaceful 
but monotonous residence for the foreign troops 
ordered to remain in exile through the following 
winter. As one of the war correspondents fated 
to share this long term of occupation, I made 
myself as comfortable as possible, and became a 
full-fledged housekeeper with a staff of six ser- 
vants in a paper-walled mansion. The tangled 
streets and alleys around the house fairly over- 
flowed with busy, chattering men and women 
by day and night, and there were so many small 
children playing under foot that they interfered 
with the streams of traffic. 

There is freezing weather in North China 
through the winter months, and the houses are 
seldom heated, so that the children were kept 
warm by bundling them up in layers of little 
wadded blue coats, the colder the weather the 
more numerous the coats. Sometimes they 
were like little blue balls of cotton and fur, 
from which came piping shouts and laughter, 
no matter how much they were shoved and 
jostled out of the way. There was none of 
the " taciturn Chinese " of the travel-books in 
these streets, where noise reigned without ces- 

The children were quick to imitate the ways 
of the wonderful foreign soldiers, and their 
games in the streets soon took a military turn. 
The band of infant marauders who made their 
headquarters in front of my gateway organized 
an army of its own, with a tumult like a flock 
of sparrows. The first time I met this alarm- 
ing company at drill, it seemed as if I had run 
into a microscopic Boxer outbreak. The ages 
of officers and privates averaged somewhat short 
of six years, all boys, for they had scorned to al- 
low their little sisters to enlist. A row of shaved 
heads and sprouting pigtails the size of a lead- 
pencil was bobbing excitedly at the roadside, 
and the blue cotton puff-balls were sufficiently 

alike to make the army look as if it had been 
uniformed for the occasion. 

Each pair of chubby brown fists grasped a 
bit of stick, and when I rode by, the soldiers 
presented arms as solemnly as if on dress-parade. 
I faced my horse about and saluted with the 
utmost gravity. The soldiers lost their dignity, 
and broke ranks with shouts of " Bean lao yet ! 
Bean lao yet!" This was my name as turned 
into Chinese by my friends of the neighborhood, 
and signified plain " Mister " without any hon- 
orary titles. 

The next time the army turned out for re- 
view, I was given warning; for when I reined 
my horse into the alley in which the troops 
manceuvered, scouts posted at strategic points 
ran away, shouting, " Bean lao yet ! " The com- 
pany toddled and tumbled out of side alleys 
and courtyards, and was lined up, " guns " in 
hand, when I passed, and the salute was re- 
turned with all the dignity I could summon. 
I had a pocket full of copper " cash," and scat- 
tered them on the heads of the troops. This 
act won instant promotion, for the greetings 
were changed into excited yells of " Bean da 
rin ! Bean da rin ! " I had become the " most 
honorable and exalted one," at a cost of three 
American cents. 

For many weeks the infant troops of the alleys 
never failed to turn out and salute my passing. 
And when not on active service in the ranks, the 
officers and privates found joy in bothering the 
two Chinese policemen who shuffled wearily 
through the alley or leaned against walls, too 
lazy to keep in motion. The children were not 
afraid of the three-foot swords and the gongs, 
and jerked their pigtails and ran away whenever 
the funny policemen were napping. 

The army became useful to me, one day in 
January, because of an event which had no- 
thing to do with soldiers or with China. A bun- 
dle of American papers nearly two months old 
brought the tidings that Yale had scored a 




brilliant football victory over Harvard, with 
one of the finest elevens that ever fought for 
the blue. It was thrilling news to me, even 
though it was so long delayed, and as an old 
Yale University athlete I naturally wished to 
organize some sort of a celebration. But the 
task was a difficult one in Peking. I had run 
across two Yale men among the foreign armies 
of occupation, one a lieutenant of the Ninth 
Infantry of General Chaffee's column, the other 
a Japanese officer on the staff of General Yama- 
guchi. Their camps were five miles apart, but I 
ordered a pony saddled, and started out to find 
my comrades who had once lived beneath the 
New Haven elms. 

Alas ! after riding a dozen miles, I was un- 
able to find either, and returned home discon- 
solate. It was a sad disappointment to have to 
celebrate such a victory in solitary fashion. As 
I turned into the alley that ran past my gate- 
way, the ever-faithful infantile army rushed 
to parade and salute " Bean da rin." Here 
was my celebration, ready and waiting. I 
beckoned the troops into my courtyard, and 
they followed, trying not to show their alarm. 
It was a new experience in their military career, 
and they did not quite know what the friendly 
" foreign devil " was going to do with them. 
Three or four anxious mothers followed timidly, 

but were reassured when one of my servants 
brought out a tray of American canned peaches 
and some cakes. The army shouted and sa- 
luted spasmodically. They had never dreamed 
of anything so wonderful in the commissary 
line as these canned peaches. 

Then — and I confess it without shame — I 
used the best part of that afternoon in teaching 
those jolly puff-balls the nine 'rahs of the Yale 
cheer. They had no idea of what all the fuss 
was about, but it was only another crazy notion 
of the lunatic foreigner, whom nobody pretended 
to understand, anyhow. So they yelled until 
their wadded little selves fairly bounced off the 
pavement and their black eyes snapped with 

A long session of coaching produced en- 
couraging results, for when I gave the signal, a 
score of piping voices screamed with frantic 
enthusiasm : 

" Lah, lah, lah! Lah, lah, lah/ Lah, lah, 
lah! Ylale, Ylale, Ylale .' — Beati da rin ! '" 

The football victory ten thousand miles 
away was duly celebrated in this fashion, and 
orthodox Yale cheers were shouted for the first 
time within the walls of the " Chinese City " of 
Peking. But I wondered, now and then, what 
the army and its parents could have thought 
the mysterious ceremony was all about. 


%* Aroisa !?©!?#©]? ^®ss . 

Great was the excitement in the little vil- 
lage of Bedford, Pennsylvania, on October 19, 
1 794 ; for everybody knew that General Wash- 
ington might be expected to arrive before night- 
fall, and would probably remain several days, 
planning the campaign against the moonshiners. 

For these were the days of the Whisky In- 
surrection, when the illegal distillers in western 
Pennsylvania had become so numerous and so 
daring as to organize a large armed force, bid- 
ding defiance to the revenue officers and small 
bodies of troops sent out against them. Re- 
peated warnings from the government had only 
stimulated them to a more determined resis- 
tance, until the lawlessness assumed such pro- 
portions that President Washington, then in his 
second term, called out the militia of New Jer- 
sey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia to 
quell the insurgents. 

Generals Morgan and South commanded the 
Virginia and Maryland troops, which consti- 
tuted the " left wing," their rendezvous being 
at Cumberland ; the New Jersey and Pennsyl- 
vania troops, commanded by Governors Mifflin 
and Howell, constituted the "right wing," with 
their rendezvous at Carlisle ; and General Lee, 
commander-in-chief of the expedition, had his 
headquarters at Bedford. President Washing- 
ton, accompanied by General Knox, Secretary 

of War, and by General Alexander Hamilton, 
Secretary of the Treasury, with an appropriate 
escort, were then visiting the encampments in 
turn, traversing the great military road which 
had been built in 1758 through Pennsylvania 
to Fort Pitt. 

The following extracts are from Washing- 
ton's diary, written during his visit to Bedford, 
which, short as it was, enriched the annals of the 
little town with several interesting stories of his 
courtly courtesy : 

Bedford, Pa., October 19, 1794. 

In company with General Lee, whom 1 requested to 
attend me, that all arrangements for the army's crossing 
the mountains in two columns might be made, and ac- 
companied by the Adjutant General, we set out about 8 
o'clock for Bedford from Cumberland and making one 
halt at the distance of 12 miles, reached it a little after 4 
o'clock in the afternoon, being met a little out of the en- 
campment by Governor Mifflin, Governor Howell, and 
several officers of distinction. Quarters were provided 
for me at the house of Mr. David Espy, Prothonotary 
of the County of Bedford, to which I was carried and 
lodged very comfortably. 

Monday, October 20, 1794. 
I called the Quarter-Master General, Adjutant Gen- 
eral, Contractor and others of the Staff Department, and 
ordered the armies to be put in motion on the twenty- 
third, and having made every arrangement that occurred 
as necessary, I prepared for my return to Philadelphia 
in order to meet Congress and attend to the civil duties 
of my office. 





No mention is' here made by the general of 
the feast prepared for him and his staff on that 
eventful Monday; nor of the wonderful turkey, 
which, on its way to the table, assumed an ani- 
mation as unexpected as that of the " four-and- 
twenty blackbirds," and fled away on foot. 
Yet this happened just as truly as any histor- 
ical fact recorded of our famous first President. 

flown straight to the hunter's lure ! And nobly 
had the marksman met his enthusiastic desire to 
render up his life for Washington : no stray shot 
would be found among the tender meat to dis- 
concert his Excellency. Could the turkey him- 
self have selected the one in all that region best 
qualified to contribute to the glory of his taking- 
off, undoubtedly Mrs. McDermett would have 

''arising from his place, he took her hand and gallantly kissed it." (see page 135.) 

The stone dwelling on the corner of the vil- 
lage square in Bedford was then occupied by 
William McDermett, a Scotchman, and his Eng- 
lish wife. He was the pioneer among steel 
manufacturers in this country, and his wife was 
a woman of birth, breeding, and quite un- 
usual education, who had left wealth and ease 
to follow the fortunes of the man she loved. 
Very varied fortunes they were; but of all 
the strange tales of her experiences with which 
she delighted her children and grandchildren, 
the one oftenest deman led was this true story 
of President Washington's turkey. Such a 
turkey ! — one that by good luck and good 
management had arrived at the very acme of 
perfection exactly at this most auspicious time. 
With what a mighty spread of pinions had he 

been his choice. Therefore we may feel confi- 
dent that, when General Washington and his 
staff sat down to dinner, it was with well justi- 
fied complacency that their host prepared to 
carve the piece de resistance when it should be 
placed before him. 

Between the kitchen and the dining-room 
was a passage lighted by one window, about 
the height of a man's shoulder, and an alley- 
way ran along this side of the house. The 
window was open, and through it for hours had 
been wafted a mingling of delicious odors as the 
preparations for the dinner progressed. 

Just at the moment when the hostess was car- 
rying the turkey through this narrow passage, 
prepared to make a triumphal entry into the 
dining-room, a soldier's arm was thrust through 




the window, a hand seized the bird by the legs, 
and in a twinkling Mrs. McDermett was left 
staring at an empty dish, while flying feet beat 
the road as the hungry thief made off with his 

Poor Mrs. McDermett, thus robbed of her 
turkey and her triumph at the very crowning 
moment of success, after a pause of helpless 
consternation, marched bravely forward to face 
her husband's chagrin, her guests' disappoint- 
ment, and Washington's — ah ! what would 
President Washington think or say ? 

Putting down the empty platter before the 
astounded host, amid the quizzical surprise of 

the staff-officers, she told her story of the sol- 
dier-thief, and then, overcome with mortification, 
turned with a sob to apologize to Washington. 
Arising from his place, he took her hand and 
gallantly kissed it, saying : " Think no more of 
it, my dear madam," with a motion toward the 
well furnished table; "surely I can say with 
your countryman, Sir Philip Sidney, ' His need 
is greater than mine.' " 

It is no wonder that in after years Mrs. Mc- 
Dermett avowed that to be thus consoled by 
General Washington was well worth all the cha- 
grin and embarrassment that had been caused 
by the sudden loss of the turkey. 

fi Charge of^out^ 

By Hanna Dawe Lloyd. 

Most little boys 

Get bushels of toys, 
Horses and wagons and bugles and drums, 

Boxes of tricks, 

And monkeys on sticks — 
My, but they 're happy when Santa Claus comes ! 

I 'd like 'em too — 

Now would n't you ? 
Don't get 'em, though — and I 'm good as can be ! 

He must forget 

I 'm waiting yet — 
Gives 'em away before coming to me. 

Guess I '11 just write 

Santa to-night ; 
Send him a note up the chimney, you know — 

Ask him this year 

To come along here, 
And start just this once at our end of the row ! 


By John R. Bacon. 

faster Sprimjsteel 
MaKes his boco, 
This is I? is uery 
First Kooo-Toco. 
/~le has a trick 
0/ imitation 
COhicb tiuists him 
Into close relation 
GOith any thin£ 
In human shape _ 
Mis skeleton 
60s ui.ll not drape. 

A tisry rotund man is he 

He captures birds 
COith ease and £race 

He looks like Saturn 
GJith his rine)s 

( pace) 
He wheels clocon tocon at furious 

He argues much on many thin6s 

'le thanksyou for your uery kind attention 

/\t County 
rail" a carrot, 
his indention 



By B. L. Farjeon. 

Chapter V. 


They were now standing before the scene of 
the arrest of Guy Fawkes, and, as before, Mme. 
Tussaud entered the tableau from behind, and 
touched the figure of the conspirator with her 
cane. Queen Mary, who was standing by 
Lucy's side, uttered a scream of terror as Guy 
Fawkes instantly began to struggle violently 
with the waxen effigies of the men who held 

" The woman is a witch! " she cried. " See, 
see! Nay, but 't is a man after my own heart. 
How valiantly he resists the ruffians who hold 
him! Ah, me! I, too, have been a prisoner 
struggling for freedom. Bravely done! By 
my troth, he hath overcome them all! " 

In fact, the wax figures were not capable of 
resistance, and Guy Fawkes had thrown them 
without difficulty, though he made huge parade 
of his prowess. Then, crying out, " Ha! there 
is yet time to fire the gunpowder!" he turned 
sharply, and perceiving Mme. Tussaud, burst 
suddenly into a hoarse chuckle. 

" Guy! " exclaimed Mme. Tussaud, severely, 
" I am displeased with you. This is the third 
time you have behaved in this fashion when I 
touched you with my cane. When will you 
learn that these poor fellows are merely dum- 
mies ? One of these days you will do them 
an injury, and put me to a great deal of unne- 
cessary expense." 

" Nay, Mistress Tussaud, you overblame 
me," protested Guy Fawkes, in a husky whisper. 
" Each time that I awake and find myself in 
the grasp of these minions, how can I but be- 
lieve that I am once more trapped outside the 
Parliament House, as I was on the 4th of 
November in the year 1605 ? " 

" I dare say," retorted Mme. Tussaud, dryly, 
" but, all the same, I warn you to take more care 
in future. You are a turbulent fellow, Guy." 

" I am a soldier of fortune, mistress, pray 
remember that," said Guy Fawkes, "and who 
pays me best may command me." 

" Nothing of the sort," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" Please to remember that you are my exclusive 
property. Now just set those men on their 
feet again, and come along." 

Lucy could not help feeling a little alarmed 
when the notorious conspirator joined them, 
and she trembled as, at a sign from Mme. 
Tussaud, she offered him her bag of chocolate 
creams. The eyes of Guy Fawkes gleamed as 
he helped himself. He would have seized the 
bag had not Mme. Tussaud prevented him. 

" Little mistress," he said to Lucy, in a 
mysterious whisper, "hast thou an enemy thou 
art anxious to get rid of? For yon parcel of 
confections I will dispose of him in such a 
fashion that he will never trouble thee again. 
Say but the word, and I am at thy service." 

" No, thank you, sir," said Lucy, in a shak- 
ing voice, for she did not wish even Lorimer 
Grimweed such a fate as that, and she shrank 
toward Mme. Tussaud, who took her hand 
and, bidding the others follow, said, as they 
proceeded to the upper room : 

" Don't be alarmed, Lucy. I have Guy well 
under control, and there is no gunpowder in 
the place." 

" Why does he speak in whispers all the 
time? " asked Lucy. " Has he a cold? " 

" No, my dear ; he does it from habit. It is 
part of a conspirator's trade." 

Meanwhile Mary Queen of Scots was looking 
at Guy Fawkes out of the corner of her eye, 
and presently she drew closer to him and said 
in a low voice : 

"Is it true that thou art a conspirator? " 

" That is my profession, madame," whispered 
Guy Fawkes ; " and assuredly I behold in the 
illustrious Queen of Scots one who has herself 
been engaged in conspiracies?" 

"Nay, 't is a base slander!" said Mary, 




loudly, looking askance at Mme. Tussaud. 
" For I am innocent of those vile plots of which 
I have been falsely accused!" Then, with her 
finger at her lips, she leaned toward him and 
murmured, " Hist, good Master Fawkes! We 
will speak together anon." 

Guy Fawkes nodded craftily and rubbed 
his hands with satisfaction. 

By this time they had reached the Grand 
Saloon, and Mary shuddered when she saw the 
dread form of the Executioner. She clung to 
Lucy as if for protection, and muttered : 

" I misdoubt me. Is this a snare? " 

"Don't be frightened at him," said Lucy; 
" he will not hurt you. And oh, dear queen, do 
not disobey the kind old lady! Your fate is 
in her hands, and she is so good, so good!" 

" By my faith, thy words are strange," said 
Mary, " but I will trust thee. If there is a plot 
against me I count upon thy aid. This is a 
wondrous hall, and though the light is dim, I 
am more content here than below. We had 
no such hall in Holyrood." 

"Your Majesty will pledge me your royal 
word," said Mme. Tussaud, approaching Mary, 
" to remain on this spot till I give you permis- 
sion to move from it." 

" Nay, that I will not," said Mary. " It is 
for me to command." 

" Not in this establishment," said Mme. 
Tussaud, in a determined tone. " If you de- 
cline to give the promise I shall convey you 
back to your scaffold." 

Impressed by the stern voice, Mary turned 
irresolutely to Lucy, who nodded earnestly and 
said in a wistful tone : 

" Yes, you must, you must indeed, Queen 
Mary! She has the kindest heart in the world, 
and has the power to da all she says." 

" The kindest heart in the world! " muttered 

Mary, with a cross look. " No, no ; she is a 

witch. We were wont to burn them at the 

stake, or give them trial by water. Natheless 

, we feared them. — Mistress, I pledge my word." 

Chapter VI. 


Then Mme. Tussaud proceeded with her 
plan. With astonishing ease she removed the 
wrapper from Henry VIII, and touched him 

on the breast. Mary uttered a little cry of 
wonder and admiration as, with a mighty shake 
of his broad shoulders, he stepped from out the 
royal group. 

" Mme. La Tussaud," he said in a hearty 
voice, as if continuing a conversation, " we 
were about to say that if thou wert younger — 
much younger — we should consider whether we 
would make thee our seventh. Thou art, alas! 
too old—" 

"And you too fickle, Henry," said Mme. 
Tussaud, the familiar manner in which she 
addressed him denoting that she was no more 
in awe of him than of Queen Mary. 

Henry laughed heartily at the retort, and 
Lucy thought she had never heard a laugh so 
jovial. The joke seemed to tickle him im- 

" 'T is agreed," he said. " We will not make 
a match of it. Gadzooks! A winsome little 
wench!" He chucked Lucy under the chin, 
and stroked his yellow beard complacently, his 
face beaming with good nature. 

" Offer his Majesty a chocolate cream, 
Lucy," said Mme. Tussaud. 

"Chocolate creams!" he cried eagerly. 
" Num, num! Thou art a very fairy. Nay, 
sweet demoiselle, one will not suffice. We will 
take the whole bag." 

" No more than three, Harry," said Mme. 
Tussaud, who saw that Lucy was wavering. 
" It is as many as we can spare." 

She counted them out in his mailed hand, 
and he, turning, saw Mary Queen of Scots. 

" Beshrew me!" he exclaimed. "Whom 
have we here? 'T is long since we beheld a 
face so fair." 

" 'T is my cousin Elizabeth's father," said 
Mary, under her breath. "I have seen his 
portrait, painted by that famous master, Hans 
Holbein the Younger. It is — it is the great 
Henry himself! He approaches — he comes 
nearer! Be still, my fluttering heart!" 

" Let me introduce you," said Mme. Tus- 
saud. " Henry VIII — Mary Queen of Scots." 
An elaborate obeisance and a still more elabo- 
rate bow followed the introduction. " You will 
no doubt enjoy each other's acquaintance. And 
I have a great holiday entertainment in store 
for your Majesties if you follow my wishes." 




"Say you so? It likes us well," observed 
the monarch. " We trust the lovely Mary hath 
a part in thy project." 

" I promise you that," said Mme. Tussaud. 
"Perhaps you will be kind enough to remain 
with the Queen of Scots while I proceed with 
my affairs? " 

"We desire nothing better," said Henry, 
" than to remain by beauty's side." 

" Oh, sire!" simpered Queen Mary. 

Mme. Tussaud beckoned to Lucy, and said 
confidentially as they walked away from the 

" Henry and I are very good friends, and so 
are most of the others we shall take with us to 
Marybud Lodge. I have occasionally to be 
rather severe, but I think I may say that I have 
established my authority over them — yes, even 
over Queen Elizabeth and Richard III. Queen 
Bess was most difficult to deal with, but I suc- 
ceeded in managing her in the end. Here she 
is. If we find her a little stiff and proud at 
first, we must not forget that she was a great 
queen, and used to the habit of command." 

Lucy could scarcely keep herself still as the 
magic cane touched the royal shoulder. Queen 
Elizabeth raised her head and gazed imperi- 
ously at Mme. Tussaud, but she did not other- 
wise move. 

" If your Majesty pleases," said Mme. Tus- 
saud, " we must not keep the company waiting." 

" 'T is well," said Queen Elizabeth. " We 
take thy word for it. Look to it that thou 
dost not deceive us." 

And then the great queen stepped majesti- 
cally out of the royal circle in which she was, 
perhaps, the most illustrious figure. Lucy gazed 
upon her with awe, and it was only at the in- 
stigation of Mme. Tussaud that she timorously 
held out her bag of chocolate creams, and even 
then she drew back in fear, dreading that the 
act might be resented as an unwarrantable 

" Don't be shy, Lucy," said Mme. Tussaud. 

Thus encouraged, Lucy, with a curtsy, 
offered half a dozen chocolate creams to Queen 
Elizabeth, who graciously accepted the gift. 
It was evident, however, from her manner that 
she did not approve of Henry VIII's atten- 
tions to Mary Queen of Scots. 

" Our royal father," she observed, as she 
glanced at the pair, "should set a better ex- 

" Nay, Bess, do not frown," said Henry, in 
a jolly voice. "If our devotion to the fair 
offend thee, observe it not." 

He turned again to Mary, whose laughter 
the next moment rang through the hall. 

" Ah, here is Mme. Sainte Amaranthe," said 
Mme. Tussaud. " Good evening, Julie." She 
had touched the Sleeping Beauty with her magic 

" Good evening, madame," said the young 
beauty, languidly raising herself from her 
couch. " Have I overslept myself? I am 
somewhat fatigued after the impromptu ball at 
which you kindly presided last night." 

"You should not be, Julie," said Mme. 
Tussaud, "for you sat out three successive 
dances with George Washington. I heard 
Anne of Cleves and Catherine Howard making 
remarks about it." 

" Oh, I don't mind what people say," re- 
turned Mme. Sainte Amaranthe, shrugging her 
shoulders. " Washington's manners were most 
fascinating, and I had become mortally tired 
after the pedantic conversation of Geoffrey 
Chaucer and John Knox." 

" Really ? " said Mme. Tussaud, laughing. 
"But come, come! We are lingering too long. I 
want to introduce you to one of our great English 
monarchs, an ardent admirer of female beauty." 

The young lady sprang to her feet with more 
vivacity than she had yet displayed, exclaim- 
ing, " And I have not made my toilette! " She 
began hurriedly to arrange her veil, her laces, 
and the long diamond chain which encircled 
her lovely neck. 

"You will do very well as you are," said 
Mme. Tussaud. Your Majesty," — they had 
now reached the royal group, — "allow me to 
introduce a friend of mine, Julie Sainte Ama- 
ranthe. We were girls together." 

" Impossible, madame," said Henry VIII, 
gazing admiringly at the young beauty, and then 
with twinkling eyes at the Little Old Woman 
in Black. "By my halidom! thou taxest our 
credulity too far!" And with an air of great 
gallantry, he kissed the hand of the French 
lady, and paid her many pretty compliments. 




" I love to listen to him," said Lucy to Mme. 
Tussaud, as they walked away. " Don't you 
think it is much prettier than the way we speak 
now? " 

" It has its attractions," replied Mine. Tus- 
saud, "and certainly the slang of the modern 
day is to be deplored. And bad habits are so 
catching. Even I find myself occasionally 
betrayed into using language that I should 
have blushed to use thirty or forty years ago. 
I am afraid we are less dignified and courteous 
than we used to be." 

Having reached the group in which Hougua, 
the great tea-merchant, was placed, she touched 
him with her magic cane, and he immediately 
took from the folds of his thickly wadded dark 
blue robe a fan, with which he began to fan 
himself. Then he spoke : 

" Put not thlee, four, five lumps of sugar in 
your tea. No can do so many lumps. Spoilee 
flaglance of the golden leaf." His eyes rested 
upon Lucy, who held out two chocolate creams, 
which instantly disappeared, as if by magic, up 
his sleeve. " Pletty child ! " he said. " Bime-by 
glow up a beautiful lady with tiny feet." 

" There 's a compliment for you, Lucy," said 
Mme. Tussaud, and leading her to other parts 
of the show, introduced her in turn to Richards I 
and III, Cromwell, Loushkin the Russian giant, 
nearly nine feet high, Tom Thumb the American 
dwarf, and Charles II, to each of whom Lucy 
offered a couple of chocolate creams, Crom- 
well being the only one who declined to accept 
them. The disdain with which he surveyed 
the royal personages was not less marked than 
the displeasure which his appearance created. 
The only celebrity he regarded with any favor 
was the giant Loushkin. 

" Give me a company of such men," he had 
the audacity to declare, " and I would sweep 
royalty from the face of the earth." 

Charles II stepped forward and looked 
daggers at the Protector. 

"Ha!" said Cromwell. "An I had laid 
hands on thee I would have served thee as I 
served thy father. The good work I did lives 
after me. Yea, verily!" 

"Wretch!" cried Mary Queen of Scots. 

"Peace! " roared Cromwell, turning to Mary. 
"Thou saucy malapert!" 

" I take this quarrel on myself," said Richard 
Coeur de Lion, darting forward. " Dash it — 
that is, 'sdeath! I cannot get my glove off!" 

" Here 's a good blade for who will pay for 
it," hissed Guy Fawkes, his hand on his sword. 

" Oh, there 's going to be a fight," cried 
Mary, dancing up and down in glee ; " there 's 
going to be a fight— and all about me! " 

"Affected creature! " murmured Mme. Sainte 

"Hooray for Guy Fawkes!" said General 
Tom Thumb. " Hello, Cromwell, how are 
you? " 

"Out of my sight, manikin!" thundered 
Cromwell, and gave a start of agony, for Tom 
Thumb had run a pin into his leg. 

"Stop — stop — stop!" cried Mme. Tussaud, 
pushing her way to the center of the group. 
"Another quarrelsome word, and I— Would 
you make me ashamed of my celebrities? It 
is perfectly scandalous that famous personages 
should behave so. And how is it possible for 
me to carry out my plans for the holiday ex- 
cursion I am going to give you — " 

"A holiday excursion!" they all cried, as 
though with one tongue. 

" Yes. I want to take you all into the coun- 
try for a few days — " 

"Oh, you dear creature!" exclaimed Mary. 

" A fete champetre / " cried Mme. Sainte 
Amaranthe, delightedly. 

" — to rescue a fair damsel in distress." 

"By my troth!" exclaimed Henry VIII, 
"this is something after my own heart." 

" But how can it be done if you continue to 
wrangle? It is perhaps too much to expect 
you all to shake hands with one another, but 
you can at least keep the peace and pretend 
to be friends." 

"Oh, yes," said Mary, ecstatically; "let 'l~ 
pretend. Oliver Cromwell, I apologize." 

"Bosh! and in pretense so do I," said the 

" In that case, colonel," said Tom Thumb, 
addressing Cromwell, " I will take the pin ouc 
of your leg." And he did so. 

" Pretend in earnest, you know," said Mme. 
Tussaud. " Is harmony restored ? Are you 
all friends? " 

"We are — we are," they all replied, one and 

i 9 o 3 .] 



all earnestly pretending, in order not to of- 
fend Mme. Tussaud, and thus endanger their 
chances of joining in the holiday excursion. 

Chapter VII. 


Then Mme. Tussaud, rapping her cane 
smartly on the floor to obtain silence, explained 
to her celebrities the purpose of the expedition 
they were about to undertake, and impressed 
upon them the necessity of obedience to her 

" I have made my plans, and I do not intend 
that they shall be upset," she said, in a tone of 
stern authority, " so let us have no nonsense. 
To show you that I know how to deal with re- 
bellion, I may as well respectfully inform you, 
celebrities, that I take my executioner with me, 
and have entered into a contract with him at 
so much per head." 

She pointed to the grim figure with the black 
mask on his face and his sharp ax ready. 
Some of the celebrities looked rather glum, but 
there was no mistaking the effect produced by 
this announcement. Even Richard III and 
Guy Fawkes entered no protest, and Queen 
Elizabeth was so elated at the prospect of an 
open-air holiday that she bestowed a gracious 
smile on Lucy. 

" We must prepare to start," said Mme. 
Tussaud. " There is yet much to do before we 
leave, for the interests of my show must not be 
neglected. I expect there will be such a rush 
for admission to-morrow that the money-boxes 
will overflow with shillings." 

" What, with us, the principal attractions, out 
of it ? " cried Mary. She really meant. " with 
ME, the principal attraction, out of it," but, 
vain as she was, she hardly liked to go as far 
as that. 

" Yes," answered Mme. Tussaud, " with you, 
the principal attractions, out of it. In the 
way of record attendances, bank-holidays will 
pale their ineffectual fires — " 

" An incorrect quotation ! " interrupted Queen 
Elizabeth, with astonishing vivacity. " In the 
singular, not the plural — fire, not fires. And 
^effectual, not ///effectual. 

' The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.' 

It vexes us to the soul when our divine William 
is misquoted." 

"Hooray for you, Queen Elizabeth!" said 
Tom Thumb. " In the names of Edwin Forrest 
and Edwin Booth, the American Eagle thanks 
the good Queen Bess; the Stars and Stripes 
salute her. 

' Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully : 
God and St. George ! Richmond and victory ! ' 

Begging your pardon, boss," continued the tiny 
man, seeing a scowl on the face of Richard 
III, "for throwing Richmond in your teeth ; 
but history 's history, and I don't want a better 
historian than the Swan of Avon. He 's good 
enough for yours truly — yes, sir / " 

" Varlet ! " muttered Richard, " an I had 
thee in the Tower — " But the conclusion of 
the threat was not audible, and as much of it 
as Tom Thumb heard had little effect upon 
him, his little fat cheeks smiled so amiably. 

" We accept thy homage, Tom of the 
Thumb," said Queen Elizabeth, "and if our 
royal cousin is displeased, we will say instead, 
quoting from our favorite poet, and venturing 
to alter two words in the original, 

' Sound, drums and trumpets, and to Barnet all ; 
And more such nights as these to us befall.' " 

" Good ! good ! " said Tom Thumb, with nods 
of approval. " Queen Elizabeth, you 're a 
daisy ! " 

" Hush, Tom ! Now is every one ready ? " 
asked Mme. Tussaud. 

" ' As ready as a borrower's cap,' " said Tom 
Thumb, answering for all, and quoting from 
Shakspere again. 

" Thou hast not many inches," said Queen 
Elizabeth, smiling sweetly on him, "but thou 
art ' a marvelous proper man.' Where didst 
thou learn to become so familiar with the 
writings of our great Shakspere ? " 

" The free and enlightened citizens of the 
U-nited States are chock-full of him, queen," 
replied Tom. 

" Softly ! " said Mme. Tussaud. " No more 
talking. Follow me." 

With footsteps as noiseless as those of a 



company of cats, they stole out of the hall, and 
were presently in the open air, crouching in 
silence within the rails, in obedience to the 
commands of the mistress of the show. 

Chapter VIII. 


The night was dark : there were no stars or 
moon visible ; and it being now one o'clock in 
the morning, Marylebone Road was almost 

" You have seen many strange things, Lucy," 
said Mme ; Tussaud, in a low tone, " and have 
behaved bravely. You will see still stranger 
things before we start for Marybud Lodge; but 
no one will be hurt, and, whatever happens, you 
must not scream." 

" I will not, ma'am," said Lucy. " It has all 
been very, very wonderful, but I am not the 
least bit frightened." 

" You are a dear little heroine," said Mme. 
Tussaud, with a bright smile. " What I have 
to do now is to find my way to the Finchley 
Road, for the London streets are changed since 
I was last in them. Then it is straight on to 
Barnet, is it not ? " 

" Almost straight. As we go along I think I 
can show you." 

" Very good, then. Celebrities, keep perfectly 
still, and do not open your lips unless I speak 
to you. Hush! A policeman ! " 

With measured steps the guardian of the 
night approached the gates of the exhibition. 
He paused, shook them to see that they were 
fast, and passed leisurely on. 

" Safe ! " sighed Mary Queen of Scots, who 
had been terrified by the approach of the man. 

" Not a word, not a word," whispered Mme. 
Tussaud, " and do not stir." 

She glided swiftly out into the street, and 
hailed the officer. 

" Policeman! " she cried. 

He stopped and faced her, but in the dark- 
ness could only see before him the figure of a 
little old woman. 

" Can you tell me the way to the Finchley 
Road ? " asked Mme. Tussaud. 

" Take the second turning to the right," the 

policeman answered, "into Baker Street, walk 
straight on, and ask again." 

" I don't wish to ask again. Am I sure to 
come to it if I walk straight on ? " 

" Yes, if you can keep straight. When you 
come to the park gates, keep to the left, and 
you '11 come to Wellington Road, and that '11 
lead you into Finchley Road." At this point 
the policeman's mind became suddenly illumi- 
nated with suspicion. " But here, I say — 
what brings you out at this time of night, and 
where did you spring from ? I did n't see you 
as I came along. Did you come up through 
the pavement? And what 's that you are 
holding behind your back ? None of your 
tricks with me — let 's have a look at it. Sharp, 
now ! " 

" It is only a cane," said Mme. Tussaud, 
producing it. 

" Only a cane, eh ? Where did you get it ? " 
He pulled out his bull's-eye lantern and flashed 
it upon her face. And that was all he did, for 
Mme. Tussaud had touched him with her 
magic cane. Immovable he stood, without 
sense or feeling, holding his lantern in his out- 
stretched hand. 

" One ! " said Mme. Tussaud, under her 
breath, and also stood quite still, for she heard 
a voice in the rear singing softly : 

" I 've got a pal, 

A reg'lar out-an'-outer; 
She 's a dear good gal — 

I '11 tell yer all about 'er. 
It 's many years since fust we met — " 

The singer, a jovial young costermonger re- 
turning home after a jolly evening spent with 
friends, stopped short and cried : 

" 'Alio ! Ho, I say ! 'Ere 's a lark ! Wot 's 
the row, bobby ? " 

It was not destined that he should be in- 
formed. The magic cane had touched him, 
and he stood stock-still, with a vacant smile on 
his face. 

" Two ! " said Mme. Tussaud, hurrying back 
to her celebrities. " I need recruits, stalwart 
men, resolute and stout," she said hurriedly. 
Tom Thumb darted forward. " Not you, Tom; 
you could not perform the work. Cromwell for 
one; and, Loushkin, you come, too." 


Vol. XXXI.— 19. 145 




The giant and Cromwell followed Mme. 
Tussaud immediately, and, in obedience to her 
instructions, carried the inanimate forms of the 
policeman and the young man of the period 
into the building, she showing the way with the 
policeman's bull's-eye lantern, of which she had 
taken possession. Then she passed out of the 
gates again, taking her recruits with her. She 
kept them busy, for every minute or two they 
came back, bearing the forms of various human 
beings who had been deprived of sense and 
motion by the touch of the magic cane. Alto- 
gether thirteen substitutes were collected, and, 
under Mme. Tussaud's direction, were carried 
into the show and placed where the celebrities 
she had revived had previously sat or stood. 
When they were covered with the calico shrouds 
which had enveloped the abstracted celebrities, 
the hall presented precisely the same appear- 
ance as when the attendants had closed the 
exhibition for the night. There was, however, 
one exception. The place which had been oc- 
cupied by Mme. Tussaud was not filled. At a 
casual glance this was not apparent, for she so 
arranged the cloth in which she had been 
inwrapped that it looked as if she were still 
within its folds. 

Once during these comings and goings she 
noticed that Lucy's face was very white and 
that the little girl was trembling. She put her 
arm around Lucy's neck and kissed her, and 
whispered : 

"There is no harm done, my dear. I have 
only sent them to sleep, as I did my night 
watchmen, and when I wake them up they will 
be as well as ever." 

The last thing to do inside the building was 
to restore the night watchmen to their senses. 
This done, they resumed their march through 
the rooms in the most natural manner possible, 
without any suspicion that there had been any 
break in the performance of their duties ; and 
when they cast their eyes around upon the 
muffled figures, they were quite satisfied that 
everything was as they had left it. 

While attending to these various matters 
Mme. Tussaud had displayed the most aston- 
ishing activity and vivacity, and every time she 
passed in and out of the building, she addressed 
a few pleasant words to this celebrity, or a few 

warning words to that, and succeeded in keep- 
ing up their spirits as effectually as she kept up 
her own. 

" And now," she said in the end, addressing 
them collectively, " everything is ready for the 
start to Marybud Lodge." 

" But how do we go ? " asked Lucy. " What 
will the policemen say when they see us march- 
ing through the streets ? And it is such a long 
distance ! " 

" Oh, if it is far we can never walk," cried 
the ladies. " Look at our thin shoes ! " 

" We shall ride," said Mme. Tussaud, smiling. 
" Loushkin will drive us. You, Lucy, will sit 
by his side and direct him, and I will sit next 
to you." 

" Ride ! " exclaimed Lucy. " In what ? Oh, 
I know ! " And all her pulses throbbed with 
delight. " You have found some large pump- 

" Come and see." 

Her celebrities accompanied her to the out- 
side pavement, and there in the road was a 
large, red, covered parcels-post van, with two 
stout horses standing perfectly still. 

" This conveyance was coming along, and I 
annexed it," said Mme. Tussaud. "The 
man who drove it is now in my show. I judge 
from his uniform that he belongs to the govern- 
ment, and I will see that it is safely restored. 
It was necessary to annex the van, for I could 
not suffer my celebrities to walk eight or ten 
miles at this time of night — no, indeed ! " 

" Certainly not, certainly not," was the gen- 
eral acquiescence. 

" Come, get in, all of you. You '11 find it 
warm and comfortable inside." 

" Take your places," shouted Tom Thumb. 

" Step up on the box, Loushkin, and take the 
reins. Oliver Cromwell, oblige me by lifting 
our little heroine up. Thank you. If I ever 
hear any one accusing you of a want of polite- 
ness, I will set them right. Get inside, please." 

" All aboard ! " cried Tom Thumb. " There 
are no more passengers, marm. We 've got the 
lot. I 've checked 'em all off. " 

" Smart little man," said Mme. Tussaud. 

She shut the door upon him and the others, 
locked it, pocketed the key, and nimbly mounted 
the box. Then she touched the horses with 

igo 3 . 



her magic cane, and they instantly whisked their 
tails and moved briskly up the street. 

" Just show them the whip, Loushkin. Are 
you comfortable, Lucy ? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Then off we go," said the Little Old Woman. 

And away they rattled in the direction of 

As they wended their way northward there were 
still fewer persons abroad than in the neighbor- 
hood of Marylebone Road, and, so far as the 
occupants of the box-seat could judge, they were 
not observed. In daylight it would, of course, 
have been otherwise. The appearance of a 
giant nearly nine feet in height, in the military 
uniform of a drum-major of the Imperial Preo- 
brajensky Regiment of the Russian Guards, 
driving a post-office mail-cart, would certainly 
have attracted attention ; but on this night only 
one man, a policeman who was turning out of 
Park Road, stopped to look after the vehicle. 
He was not in doubt about the conveyance or 
the horses, but about the Being on the box. 

" Was it a image ? " he asked himself, and 
paused till the cart was out of sight. He lifted 
his eyes to the tops of the trees, and for the first 
time in his life noticed how much higher they 
seemed to be by night than by day. " That is 
it," he soliloquized; "it was the tree-tops that 
made him look so tall. He might have been a 

So the conveyance passed along unimpeded. 
Along the Wellington Road into Finchley Road, 
past the Swiss Cottage and the nice new shops 
with which the Parade beyond is lined, past the 
pretty villas which were being built all the way 
to Finchley, the horses trotted merrily, as though 
they were aware of the distinguished company 
they were carrying and were proud of their 
burden. Lucy's sharp eyes were on the look- 
out for familiar landmarks, and it was under 
her guidance that the journey was made. 
Strange to say, she did not feel tired or sleepy. 
The exciting events of the day and night had 
dispelled all sensations of fatigue, and she was 
as bright at two o'clock in the morning, sitting 
on the box between Loushkin and Mme. Tus- 
saud, as if it were yet day. Odd as were the 
circumstances in which she found herself placed, 
she was very happy in the prospect held out by 

Mme. Tussaud, and she kept whispering to her- 
self: "It 's all for dear Lydia's sake — all for 
my dear, darling sister." 

Merrily rang the clatter of the hoofs on the 
road, and the horses champed their bits and shook 
their heads as if they were enjoying it; but they 
were not sorry when Loushkin pulled up to give 
them a drink from a water-trough by the road- 
side; and while they slaked their thirst, Mme. 
Tussaud got nimbly down from the box to see 
how her celebrities were getting along. Henry 
VIII was listening with great attention to a 
conversation between Mary Queen of Scots and 
Mme. Sainte Amaranthe upon the fashions of 
ladies' dress and what styles were most becom- 
ing to fair and dark complexions. Richard Ill's 
eyes were half closed, but he was only pretend- 
ing to be asleep, and his brain was really teem- 
ing with plots; occasionally he muttered a few 
words to Guy Fawkes, who received his remarks 
with an air of mingled bravado and mystery, 
while Charles II was regarding them with an 
air of haughty disapproval. Cromwell and 
Richard I were discussing military affairs. 
Queen Elizabeth and Tom Thumb were quot- 
ing from Shakspere with great animation. Hou- 
gua was smiling blandly upon one and all; 
and the executioner sat bolt upright, his eyes 
glaring frightfully through his mask. 

" How are you getting along, good people ? " 
asked Mme. Tussaud, letting the light of the 
bull's-eye lamp travel from one to another. 

" Bully ! " said Tom Thumb, briskly. " If 
you find it cold outside, there 's plenty of room 
for you and the little girl in here." 

" We are quite comfortable on the box-seat, 
thank you, Tom. I trust your Majesty does 
not feel wearied." 

" We are well bestowed," said Queen Eliza- 
beth, with a gracious inclination of her head. 
" Thou hast given us an agreeable henchman. 
Raleigh himself was not a more accomplished 
courtier, and knew less of Sweet Will than Tom 
of the Thumb." She turned to the little man. 
" Who spake those words of our poet, Tom of the 
Thumb, which but now thou wast repeating ? " 

" They were from Suffolk's lines," answered 
Tom Thumb, " when he was playing false to 
Henry VI, in his interview with Lady Margaret. 
Don't you remember ? " 




I 49 

"Ha! those knavish ambassadors!" ex- 
claimed Queen Elizabeth. "We have had 
experience of them. We recall the lines — they 
are in our poet's play of ' Henry VI.' But thy 
memory is prodigious, gallant Tom of the 
Thumb; marvelous is thy erudition. Fain 
would our eyes rest upon the wonderful country 
in which thou wert bora and educated." 

" In education it takes the cake, queen," said 
Tom Thumb, " and a visit from you would set 
all the bells ringing from Maine to California. 
You are as greatly honored there as in the cities 
and green lanes of England." 

" From our green lanes, sweet and fragrant 
as they will ever be, we send it greeting. We 
recollect our sea-dog Sir Francis Drake, when 
we visited him upon his ship, the ' Golden 
Hind,' speaking in glowing terms of those won- 
drous western shores, upon some spot of which 
he unfurled our flag, calling the land New 
Albion. But let us not desert the pages of 
our Swan of Avon. Proceed with thy illus- 

Before the end of this dialogue, Mme. Tus- 
sard having remounted to the box-seat, the 
journey was resumed. The nearer they ap- 
proached Barnet, the surer was Lucy of the 
road, and after a merry canter of three or four 
miles she cried excitedly : 

" We shall be there very soon now. Oh, 
what will Lydia say when she sees us — and 
what will papa think ? Mr. Loushkin, please 
take the road to the left. There — there is 
Marybud Lodge right before us. Stop, coach- 
man, stop ! " 

The van was pulled up within half a dozen 
yards of a stone wall, about eight feet high, with 
a wooden door built in it. By the side of the 
door hung a rusty iron chain, and on it was a 
great iron knocker. There appeared to be no 
other means of entrance than this door. 

Mme. Tussaud alighted from the box-seat so 
quickly that she seemed to fly off it, and assisted 
Lucy down. Then she unlocked the door of 
the van and let out her celebrities, who stepped 

to the ground with expressions of satisfaction at 
having reached their journey's end. 

"Where dwells the fair Lydia? " said Henry 
VIII, in a loud, commanding voice. " We see 
no house. A murrain on the knaves ! Is this 
the manner in which we are received ? In 
silence ? No welcome proffered ? By my 
troth ! an the entertainment within be not bet- 
ter than the entertainment without, there will 
be work for the headsman. 'T is well he ac- 
companied us, Mme. La Tussaud." 

" Let us talk sense, Henry," was the answer 
he received. 

" Sense ! " he roared. " Do we not talk 
sense ? We are starving. An thou wilt proffer 
us a flagon and a pasty we will talk sense enow. 
What ho, within there ! What ho ! Is there 
no horn at the gate to summon the knaves ? " 
He was about to hammer on the door when 
Mme. Tussaud seized his arm. 

"For shame, Harry, for shame ! You will 
arouse the enemy and frustrate the plans I have 
so carefully prepared." She stamped her foot. 
" Understand me, Harry; I will not have it ! " 

" What is it, then, thou 'It have, if thou 'It not 
have that ? " he demanded. 

" Your counsel and advice, Hal, which you 
cannot give if you work yourself into a passion. 
Come, now, be sensible." 

" As thou wilt," he said in a milder tone. 
" We were ever the slave of thy fickle sex. And 
what is 't that 's a-foot now ? " 

" We have to decide how to get into Mary- 
bud Lodge," said Mme. Tussaud. " Lucy, is 
this the front entrance?" 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Is there no other ? " 

" There is the servants' door at the back." 

" Does this stone wall stretch right round the 
Lodge ? " 

" Yes, ma'am, right round." 

Mme. Tussaud was not sorry to hear it. It 
insured privacy; prying neighbors could not 
watch and take note of their movements. 

" Let us reconnoiter," she said softly. 

(To be continued.) 


By Cyrus Townsend Brady. 

The family were enjoying an attack of tonsil- 
litis. I think there were one hundred and fifty 
cases distributed throughout the hotel in which 
we were spending the summer, but we got more 
than our share of the disease, for the baby's 
mother, his two sisters, his big brother, and, 
most unfortunate of all, even his nurse had it. 
And they all had it practically at the same 
time, too. 

He and I escaped; but I had him, and I 
don't know which was the more trying. At 
present I think the baby was — but then, I have 
never had the tonsillitis. I am his father. I 
did n't have a happy time during that epi- 
demic, for so many people were ill in the 
hotel at the same time that there was no 
way of getting a trained nurse for my family, 
and I had to attend to them and to the baby 
also. We turned our apartments into an in- 
firmary, with the exception of one room, in 
which the baby had to stay. He was n't a little 
baby; in fact, he was two and a half years old, 
solid and substantial for his age, and, though I 
do say it myself, he was an unusually active 
and intelligent child — how active I never quite 
realized before. 

However, as it turned out, the first day of 
the tonsillitis visitation he had sprained his leg, 
or hurt it in some way, and was unable to walk. 
He had to be carried everywhere. In passing, 
for a month after this, whenever he got lazy 
and wanted to be " cawied," his thoughts would 
recur to the halcyon sprained-leg days when I 
was his porter, and the leg would suddenly pain 
him again ! Well, at the time I thought this en- 
forced " immobility " was a terrible hardship, — 
for me, — for he was a stout, well-built, heavy 
youngster, and it was quite a job to " tote " him 
around all day long except at my hourly visits to 
the sick members of the household for the pur- 
pose of administering nauseous medicine; but it- 
had its advantages, as I afterward learned, for 
when he was put down anywhere he " stayed 

put." He was very careful of that game leg of 
his; consequently I was entirely safe in leaving 
him. The next day it was better at intervals, — 
the leg, I mean, and so were the other patients, 
— but he still required a deal of carrying; and 
as he gained more freedom of motion, he did 
manage to get into some mischief. He was not 
up to his capacity, however. The third day 
he was well. The tonsillitis invalids were also 
able to take their own medicine without my 
help. As I had been kept in the house with that 
baby for two days, I thought it advisable for his 
health and my own comfort to get outdoors. 

The hotel fronted on a beautiful little lake. 
At the foot of the bluff upon which it stood 
was a boat-house. Like all Adirondack boat- 
houses, a sloping platform ran from the boat- 
racks into and under the water. You put your 
boat on the platform, shove it off yourself, and 
spring in as it glides away, or you get in first 
and some one else does the shoving for you. 
The baby wanted to go fishing. He was n't 
an expert angler, never having caught anything, 
although he fished patiently with a pin hook and 
twine from the end of a switch. 

His leg had become well with astonishing 
suddenness, and as he frisked down the path, 
clinging to my hand, he seemed as active as 
ever. I had dressed him — painfully, it must 
be admitted, being unused to a task of that 
kind — in his best suit of clothes. I put on this 
suit partly because it happened to be the first 
one in the bureau-drawer. I got the boat out 
with the assistance of the boatman, and was 
preparing to enter it, when the baby dropped a 
ball he was carrying. It rolled down the plat- 
form and slipped into the water. He darted 
after it. Somebody screamed as they saw him 
plunge forward. I looked up, made a step 
forward, and clutched him. 

You can't imagine how slippery that platform 
was under water. I never dreamed that any- 
thing made of wood could be so sleek. I 



lifted up the baby and made a frantic effort 
to keep my balance. In vain! Out went my 
feet, and down we both went sprawling. It 
seemed to me we did n't stop until we had shot 
twenty feet out into the lake. I kept tight hold 
of the baby, who was now yelling at the top of 
his voice. He kept up his screaming until he 
was soused under. Fortunately I am an expert 
swimmer, and I easily lifted him out of the 


water — at least his head — and swam around 
to the landing-place and scrambled ashore. 

Then he began roaring again. He was n't 
the only one who roared either, for the boat- 
house was filled with people. It was usually 
empty at that hour of the morning, but on this 
particular day it seemed to me that everybody 

in the hotel was there. As we climbed out 
they roared, too — but with laughter. I could 
not see anything funny then. I shook the baby, 
I '11 admit, but — merely to shake the water out 
of him, or off of him, of course. 

" What are you crying about ? " I asked des- 

The cause of his weeping is clear to me now, 
but at the time it was inexplicable. 

" What do you 
want ? " I continued, 
as there was no abate- 
ment of his cries. 

" I duss want to be 
excruged for fallin' in 
de water," he sobbed 
out at last. 

I had to " excruge" 
him right then and 
there before he stopped 
screaming. Wet and 
bedraggled, we trailed 
across the road and up 
to our apartments. We 
had to change every 
stitch we had on. Hav- 
ing recovered from this 
impromptu bath, we 
started out on our orig- 
inal expedition, ourfirst 
failure only making the 
baby more determined. 
This time we entered 
the boat without any 
mishap. I rowed out 
into the lake, and the 
youngster cast his line 
and began. I had a 
book , the day was pleas- 
ant, and I sat reading, 
glancing at him occa- 
sionally to see that he 
did n't get into mis- 
chief. He was quite content to fish there for 
hours without any result. He had the true 
spirit of Izaak Walton in him, I think, and 
when he was fishing was the only time in his 
life that he remained still and kept quiet, so I 
encouraged the pastime. The boat drifted 
slowly along, the absorbed angler watching his 




hook. Suddenly I heard an excited scream 
from the stern-sheets. The small boy had 
risen and was dancing frantically up and down 
on the seat, holding his fishing-pole with both 
hands, yelling, " I dot a fis' ! I dot a fis' ! " 

It was somewhat of a problem whether he had 
" dot a fis' " or the " fis' " had " dot " him ; but 
before I could take in the fact that the line was 

boat, tossed him upon the bottom of it, and 
then started to push the boat to the shore. The 
baby never let go of his prize, but kept on ex- 
claiming : " I dot a fis' ! " 

Meanwhile some one from the shore rowed 
out and towed us in. We furnished a deal of 
amusement for the hotel that day. People ap- 
parently expected something to happen to us; 


taut as a wire and the young angler was holding 
on desperately, he pitched wildly overboard. I 
made a hasty move to save him, and, by ill luck, 
overturned the cranky boat. I caught him by 
the leg just as he went down again, fearing lest 
the fish, which seemed as strong as a whale, 
might tow him across the lake. 

As I said before, I was a good swimmer, even 
with my clothes on. This was the second time 
that day I had a chance to display my prowess 
in the water. The baby did n't cry this time. 
The true spirit of the sportsman was in him. 
He just shut his little teeth and hung on to that 
rod with two chubby little fists. I swam to the 

for a larger crowd than before was at the boat- 
house as we landed. My thoughts were too deep 
for utterance, and all the baby did was to hold 
up his pole proudly and draw attention to the 
fish dangling from the end of it. That fish was 
about three inches long. 

" I taught him; I taught dat fis' ! " he said to 
the assemblage, his voice shrill with excite- 
ment. " I duss hooked him, an' I did n't let go, 
and my papa holded me up." 

It was an effective speech, if I may judge by 
the results. I have thought since that he would 
make a capital comedian, if the chief function 
of a comedian is to make people laugh. 




Well, we made another trip to our apart- 
ments and changed our clothes a second time. 
It was Monday, and two weeks' laundry had 
just gone. Our stock of clothes, therefore, was 
running rather low. I think my son seemed to 
have the faculty of getting more rumpled and 
mussed when I had him in charge than he or- 
dinarily did when accompanied by his nurse. 
We got our dinner, and proceeded to go forth 
in search of more amusement. 

This time we walked. I had had enough of 
the water, for that day 
at least; so we strolled 
around the foot of the 
lake, toward the bowl- 
ing-alley which was on 
the other side. I had an 
engagement with one of 
the guests for a bowling 
match that afternoon. 
The baby enjoyed going 
there. He had the free 
range of the place, so 
long as he kept off the 
alleys, and he usually 
had great fun playing 
with the little balls. 

The only people 
bowling that afternoon 
were the man and my- 
self. The other alleys 
were free. The baby 
played in these empty 
alleys, rolling the little 
balls around, and almost 
every time he rolled a 
ball he slipped and fell 
on the polished floor. 
So long, however, as 
he did not fall heavily 
enough to hurt himself, 
we paid no especial 
attention to him, but 
kept on with our game. 
Consequently we did n't 

notice his absence until we heard a fearful 
howl from the adjoining room. 

We dashed into the room, which was used as 
a locker-room, beyond which lay the shower- 
baths. He was in the middle of the big square 
Vol. XXXI.— 20. 

shower — one of those things with many pipes 
which throw the water at you from all direc- 
tions. It was so arranged that one swing of a 
lever opened every one of them. He had 
wandered in there and had pulled the lever. 
They were all going hard ! That infant was 
seated on the floor in the middle of the shower, 
the water streaming upon him from every pos- 
sible direction. It was lucky none of it was 
hot water, it being summer. 

He may have been weeping, — of course we 


could not tell water from tears under the cir- 
cumstances, — but his lung power had not been 
diminished by his exploits of the day, and he 
was screaming lustily for help. 

Really it was an extraordinarily funny sight, 



and I am ashamed to say my friend and I 
laughed. As soon as we could recover our- 
selves a little, I directed that baby to come out. 
He was usually an obedient child, but either he 
did n't hear me or he was too scared to come 
forth ; certainly he did n't heed my commands. 

He sat there as solid as a pyramid, the water 
streaming down upon him. Threats, com- 
mands, appeals were alike useless. There 
was no help for it: I myself had to turn that 
water off and get him. The controlling lever 
was behind him. It was too far for me to 
reach in and turn it off; I had to go in. My 
laughter ceased rather suddenly, but my incon- 
siderate friend continued to see the humor of 
the situation with even more force than before. 
The way he laughed was exasperating! 

Well, there was no use waiting any longer. In 
I plunged boldly, found the lever, turned off the 
water, took that infant, and started home. It was 
a triumphal march we made through the village, 
around the end of the lake, back to the hotel. 
I never knew until that day how many of the 
guests were accustomed to take walks through 
that woodland path. And they were so inter- 
ested in us, too. 

" What, again ? " 

" How many times does this make ? " 

" Well, you are certainly fond of the water! " 

" Why don't you get a bathing-suit ? " 

" Or a rubber coat ? " 

" I declare " (this from some motherly old 
ladies), " it 's a shame to treat a baby so ! " 

" He is n't fit to be trusted with a child, any- 

" Where 's the poor thing's mother ? " 

Such were some of the comments of those 
unfeeling people. 

I took that young man up to our apartments 
for the third time that day, and this time put 
him to bed. He had n't said a word to me 
during our interesting walk home, and he did 
not until I was tucking him under the sheets, 
there to remain while some of his wardrobe was 
drying. Then, as I bent over him, looking as 
stern and inexorable and disgusted as a man 
could well look who had undergone such mis- 
haps, he reached up his little arms, drew my 
head toward him, and whispered : 

" Are you mad, papa ? 'Cause if you 're mad, 
I duss want to be excruged." 

After that I had to " excruge " him again. 
My ! but I was glad when night came. 

The next day the nurse was able to assume 
her responsibilities once more, and I cheerfully 
relinquished that delectable infant into her keep- 
ing. I have a great respect for that nurse, she 
managed him so easily — a most remarkable 
young woman, indeed ! I never appreciated 
what a necessary adjunct to the family happi- 
ness and safety she was. And I earnestly trust 
that if the family is again laid low by tonsillitis, 
its attacks will come " piecemeal " and leave 
free always at least one member more skilled 
than I to undertake the care of this very dear 
but very strenuous youngster. 



fmml MfcG&HLl®7' 


'/ITTLE Johnny was two years older 
than his twin sisters, and Dicky was 
nearly three years older than his 
brother Johnny. So, even though 
it was Christmas eve, Dicky had 
been permitted to remain up for an 
hour after Johnny and the twins had gone to 

He had been sitting upon the chintz-covered 
ottoman by the side of his Uncle Joe in front 
of the wide and cheerful fireplace. Uncle Joe 
had been telling him some fine stories of 
Christmas-time and Santa Claus, of the glitter- 
ing star in the desert and the three wise men. 
But now Uncle Joe was tired and was dozing. 
Dicky could tell by the gold watch-fob that 
was slowly rising and sinking on the surface of 
his uncle's white waistcoat. It was quiet — so 
very quiet that Dicky could hear the regular 
tick-tick, tick-tick of the tall clock in the corner 
and the contented purring of gentle old Tabby. 
Dicky kept thinking of Uncle Joe's wonder- 
ful stories, and, as he went over them he be- 
gan to feel delightfully feathery all inside of 
him — "just like a balloon," he thought. 

" Gracious ! Why, I am a balloon ! " he 
suddenly exclaimed to himself, as he made a 
futile grab or two at the tufted top of the otto- 
man, and then began lazily to float toward the 
center of the library ceiling. 

" Is n't it funny that Uncle Joe does n't wake 
up ? " Dicky asked of himself, as he looked 

down upon the comfortable figure in the great 
red leather-covered Morris chair. 

Dicky smiled. " Well, anyhow," said he, 
by way of giving himself assurance, " I '11 stop 
when I get to the ceiling. And I sha'n't bump 
myself, either, I 'm going so nice and e-a-s-y." 

Dicky was half right, at least. He did n't 
bump himself; but he did n't stop when he had 
reached the ceiling. He went right through it. 
Now please do not imagine that the ceiling 
broke like a piece of tissue-paper. Dicky 
simply drifted through it, quite as though it 
were a fog. 

He felt himself rising more and more swiftly 
at every moment; but, before sailing through 
the next ceiling, Dicky had time to see his 
sweet baby sisters, with their chubby arms 
clasped about each other's dimpled necks, fast 
asleep in their crib, and brother Johnny cud- 
dling down more closely into his warm blankets 
and quilts. After that he caught a glimpse of 
the garret, the pale moonlight that was stream- 
ing into it over a snow-covered window-ledge, 
and then — presto! he was out through the 
gabled roof, sailing smoothly beneath the star- 
powdered sky. 

Though every bit of earth, the trees, roofs, 
and everything outdoors were mantled in snow, 
which sparkled in the moonlight like dust of 
diamonds, Dicky felt deliciously light and warm 
and comfortable. 

It was lovely, beautiful ; and " Is n't it just 
grand!'''' he exclaimed aloud, in a burst of 
genuine delight. 

It ail happened so very quickly that Dicky 
has never since been able to explain much 
about it. The only thing that he is sure of is 
that he was suddenly whisked into a wonder- 




fully big place with a tremendously high ceil- 
ing — so very high, in fact, that, peer as he 
might, Dicky could n't begin to see to the top 
of it. Millions of brilliant lights went circling up 
and up, after the fashion of a huge twinkling 
corkscrew. The walls all around him glistened 
and shone like burnished silver. 

" It looks something like polished ice," he 
mused, as he made as though to peep over the 
edge of the precipice, or shelf, or whatever it 
was that he had alighted upon. Dicky was 
surprised to find that his legs had grown curi- 
ously stiff, and that he was able to bend his 
body only from the waist. When he did man- 
age to look over, he heard a peculiar squeak 
inside of him that sounded strangely like an un- 
oiled hinge. But, at all events, he satisfied him- 
self that he was standing safely on a shelf, and 
not very far from the floor. 

Again he looked around at the shining walls. 
" I wonder whether it is ice ? " he queried to 
himself. He tried then to touch the smooth 
surface behind him, and the stiff, ludicrous, and 
altogether awkward manner in which he was 
obliged to bend his arm caused him no end of 

"It 's just as if I was a — a — " Dicky 
hesitated for a brief space and looked down at 
himself. " Why ! " he shouted, " that 's just 
what I am — I 'm a tin soldier ! " 

Which is precisely what Dicky was : a tin 
soldier, all decked out in a brilliant uniform of 
scarlet and blue and gold. He discovered that 
he could turn his head in a complete circle, 
" like an owl I saw once at the Zoo," he 
thought. So in the mirror-like surface of the 
wall at his back he admired his trappings — the 
sword dangling at his side, the perfectly gor- 
geous plume nodding in his tilted cap. 

From the moment that he landed upon the 
shelf, Dicky had been conscious of a helter- 
skelter rush and bustle all about him — a hur- 
rying, scurrying of numberless flying feet, a 
subdued murmuring of countless voices, a tur- 
bulent sea of energy constantly ebbing and flow- 
ing from one end of the vast interior to the other. 
Droll, little-bodied men, with fresh, round, 
happy faces, were running swiftly to and fro 
between the shelves. He could see their white 
paper caps bobbing about beneath him all over 

the floor. Often they would break into a chorus 
of song; and their short, blue-overalled legs 
would twinkle in and out in time to the curious 

" Well," said Dicky to himself, " since I 'm 


here, I might as well see as much as I can." 
Whereupon, in a stiff, ungainly way, he clam- 
bered over the edge of the shelf, hung sus- 
pended there for a moment, and then dropped 
to the floor. 

He alighted just behind a queer little man 
who was busily working away with a hammer 
and chisel. Dicky lost his balance and toppled 
over against the tiny workman's shoulder, who 
said, without pausing to look up, and in a laugh- 
able, singsong tone of voice : " You came pretty 
near falling on me — falling on me — falling on 
me ! " And then, quite as though nothing un- 
usual had occurred, he proceeded with his in- 
terrupted song, which ran something like this : 




" I tinker him up and I tinker him down, 
I tinker him round the corner ; 
I tinker a plum in his chubby fat thumb, 
And call him my Little Jack Horner! " 

" Please, sir, where am I ? " queried Dicky, 
breathlessly, as soon as the little workman had 
finished singing the verse. 

" I don't know who tinkered you," observed 
the little workman, glancing sidewise at Dicky, 
" but you 're certainly a famously fine toy. Ex- 
cellent phonograph you have inside of you, too. 
Excellent — exce\-/e?it / " 

Dicky protested: " But I 'm a boy, not a toy." 

" Haw-haw — ho-ho ! " laughed the little work- 
man, immoderately. " A verse in him as well. 
Not half bad, I '11 declare ! Not half bad . Let 
me — see ; one too many feet in the first line, 

" Now there 's where you are mistaken," 
cried Dicky, triumphantly ; " because you can 
see for yourself that I 've only two feet." 

"Haw-haw — ho-ho-O-O!" fairly shouted 
the little workman. " Better and better. Bet- 
ter a-n-d better ! A question ; a verse ; repar- 
tee. Good ! G-r-e-a-t ! " 

He favored Dickey with a glance of genuine 
admiration, and then resumed his song : 

"Then I stow him away in old Santa Claus' bag, 
With a message of love and good cheer, 
And a wish that my toy may bring Christmas joy, 
And a jolly and happy New Year." 

Dicky had noticed before that right in the 
center of the floor there was a circular space 
about five or six yards in diameter, where 
the streams of white-capped workmen came 
together and eddied around and around after 
the fashion of an animated whirlpool. 

Immediately after the tiny tinker had 
finished his song he lifted up the mechan- 
ical Little Jack Horner, shouldered his 
way into one of the moving lines, and 
hurried with his toy toward the animated 
whirlpool, with Dicky following closely at his 

" I 'm going to find out what they 're doing," 
said he, determinedly ; and then, " Why, it 's a 
great big bag ! And I declare if they 're not 
dumping things into it as fast as they can. I 
wonder why it does n't get full and spill over 

the top ? " he continued to muse, and all the 
while he kept busily dodging about in order 
to escape the hurrying feet of the droll little 

Just at that moment he bumped against 
something soft and yielding. In his haste to 
step aside and apologize (for Dicky, you must 
know, was an exceedingly polite little fellow), 
he made matters considerably worse by tread- 
ing upon some one's toe. 

" Oh, I do humbly beg your pardon ! " he said 

" It was n't your fault, I 'm sure," replied a 
sweet, silvery voice, " and you have n't hurt me 
at all." 

When Dicky managed somehow to turn 
around, he saw a most charming face, crowned 
with a great quantity of golden hair, and a pair 
of captivating eyes looking frankly into his own. 
"I — I — er — " he stammered, and felt him- 
self growing red. Then he made an awkward 
attempt to take off his cap, and was deeply 
chagrined to discover that it was glued fast to 
his head. Next he tried to bow, and, forgetting 
that he could only bend from his waist, he fell 
forward squarely upon his head in a fashion 
very much more ludicrous than dignified. 


" Did you hurt yourself, sir ? " Dicky heard 
the sweet voice inquire. 

"Oh, n-no!" returned Dicky, very much 
embarrassed. "I — I was only trying to bow, 
thank you." 

" Please don't do it again," pleaded the pretty 
creature. " It does give one such a start." 





" Thank you — that is — I sha'n't do it again, 
if you don't wish me to," promised Dicky, 
soberly, as he got firmly to his feet and stood at 
soldierly " attention." " I sha'n't forget again 
that I 'm a tin soldier, though," he added to 

Then followed a long pause, during which 
they both watched the little workmen piling 
things into the bag. Bass-drums, snare-drums, 
tin whistles, and swords ; candy, building-blocks, 
alphabet and story books ; dishes, dolls, and 
dancing dervishes; caps, jackets, and clothing 
of all descriptions; trussed-up turkeys, all 
ready for the oven, and generous packages 
of food — in fact, everything nice that one 
could possibly think of kept tumbling 
over the rim of the bag in an endless 

" That bag appears not to have any 
bottom," thought Dicky, "for if it had 
it surely would have been running over * *' 
long before this, it seems to me." 

" Would n't it be ever so jolly," remarked 
the sweet creature at Dicky's side, "if we were 
to be put in last of all ? " 

Dicky had n't thought for a moment that he 
was going to be thrust into the bag ; but, if it 
was to be, he thought it would be much more 
comfortable to ride on top, and he did n't hesi- 
tate long in saying so. 

"Then, don't you see," pursued the sweet 
creature, " we could see everything as we rode 
along ? " 

"Rode along? " queried Dicky, wonderingly. 
" Why — wherever are we going to be taken ? " 

" I 'm sure / don't know. None of us knows. 
We 're only toys, you know, and Santa Claus 
puts us wherever he thinks we are most needed. 
I do so hope I shall find a kind little mistress. 
They 've given me such a beautiful complex- 
ion — I should hate to have it washed off with 
strong soap. They 've painted you up nicely, 
too, have n't they ? " 

" But I 'm not painted at all," Dicky stoutly 
protested. " I 'm a real boy." 

"Why, were n't you made here in SantaClaus's 
workshop ? " asked the sweet creature, in a tone 
of amazement. 

" Of course not/' Dicky answered. " I just 
landed here on a shelf about half an hourago. I'll 

wager Uncle Joe '11 be surprised when he finds out 
that I 've turned into a tin soldier! I wish 7^ 
could meet Uncle Joe. I know you 'd like him." 

"Perhaps I — " 

But the sweet creature never finished the 
sentence, for just at that moment she and Dicky 
were caught up and put into the bag, which, by 
the way, had become full while they were talk- 
ing. So there they were with their heads stick- 

"he fell forward upon his head." 

ing well over the top, just as they had wished 
it might be. 

No matter how old he lives to be, Dicky will 
never forget the scene that followed. 

With a marvelous precision, the regiments of 
little workmen ranged themselves in tier upon 
tier along the wall. To such a great length 
did the uniformed lines stretch out that Dicky 
could n't begin to see the end of them. Then, 
from afar off, sounded the merry jingle of silver 
sleigh-bells, followed by the sharp crack of a 
whip, and in just another second Santa Claus 
himself, holding a handful of red reins above 
eight graceful, lithe, and beautiful reindeer, had 
drawn up with a grand flourish alongside. 
Dicky noticed that all of the little workmen 
were standing with their right hands lifted to the 
tips of their paper caps. As the great bag was 
lifted to the back of the scarlet sleigh, they burst 
out into a mighty chorus of song, which could be 
heard long after the swiftly moving reindeer had 
whisked Santa Claus and his burden through 
the wide and lofty entrance. 

" Might n't we be blown away ? " Dicky 
heard the sweet creature whisper, as they felt 
the cold air on their faces. Whereupon, in 
order to quiet her fears, he took her hand and 
held it tightly during the whole evening's ride. 




No sooner had he done so when the sleigh 
came to a sudden halt beside a tumble-down 
little cottage. Santa Claus threw the bag across 
his big shoulder, clambered quickly to the roof, 
and floated down the chimney. 

By the dim firelight Dicky could see two 
curly little heads buried in their pillows. He 
found himself wishing that he and the sweet 
creature might remain there in the little cottage. 
" We could make them so happy in the morn- 
ing," he thought. But Santa Claus selected 
from the great bag, clothing and nice new shoes 
and a turkey and several packages of food. After 
filling the tiny much darned stockings hanging 
from a shelf with striped stick candy and col- 
ored pop-corn, he floated up the chimney; and 
at the crack of his long whip, and with a great 
jingling of bells, they soared again high into the 
clear air. 

Over country and villages and cities they 
flew, all the while whisking up and down chim- 
neys with lightning-like rapidity. 

Just as Dicky fancied that he saw the first 
rosy signal of dawn away off in the east, the 
sleigh halted beside a house that seemed ever 
so familiar. He had n't much time, however, 
to look at the outside of it before they were in- 
side, and, sure enough ! it was his own house. 
Yes, there was the very leather-covered Morris 
chair in which his Uncle Joe had sat when 
Dicky floated through the library ceiling ! 

Suddenly, then, he felt himself being grasped 
gently by the arm, and Santa Claus thrust him 
right into his brother Johnny's stocking. Dicky 
was quite frightened and stifled for a moment, 
it was so dark and close down there ; but then 

he grew altogether happy and contented when 
he heard a sweet voice saying : 

" I 'm to stay here with you, my little tin 

" Oh, dear, I am so sleepy," was all Dicky 
could say; and he was just about to sink into 
the most deliciously restful sleep when — 

Yes ! it was his brother Johnny who was shak- 
ing him by the arm; and right behind Johnny 
were his dear, little twin sisters. Above them 
all appeared the smiling face of Uncle Joe. 

" Hurry up, Dicky, man ! " called out Uncle 
Joe, cheerily. " The idea of oversleeping on 
this of all mornings ! A merry Christmas to you ! 
And rush down into the library as quickly as 
you can. The tree 's waiting there for you." 

"An'juth look what /dot!" lisped one of 
the twins, as she lifted to the foot of Dicky's 
bed — whom do you think ? Why, the sweet 
creature ! 

" Ith n't she pitty ? " cooed Dicky's sister, 

"And look what I 've got," shouted Johnny, 
as he pulled forth a gaily painted tin soldier. . 

" Well, come on, children ! " shouted Uncle 
Joe, from the library. Whereupon Dicky's 
sister lifted the sweet creature tenderly into 
her chubby arms, and Johnny hastily tucked 
his tin soldier in his jacket pocket, and down 
the family went to see the tree and the other 
presents that Santa Claus could not get into 
the stockings. 

And, somehow, all that winter there was 
scarcely a day when Dicky went into the play- 
room that he did not take a look at the sweet 
creature and the little tin soldier. 

By Julian King Colford. 


The custom of marking a business house by- 
means of a sign is of very ancient origin. In 
the great cities of the East and among the 
ancient Egyptians such a practice must have 
been unnecessary, as all trades were classified 
and confined to certain sections of the city, and 
then all wares were exposed to full view, as 
they were displayed in open booths. 

The history of Grecian sign-boards is meager, 
yet the allusions of Aristophanes and Lucian to 
sign-boards warrant our belief in their use by 
the Greeks. Athenasus tells us, " He hung the 
well known sign in front of his house." 

Advancing to Roman times, there is abundant 
evidence of signs, as the discoveries of Pompeii 
and Herculaneum amply testify. In the Eternal 
City some of the streets derived their names 
from signs; just as hundreds of London streets 
have been so named. The Roman street " Vi- 
cus Ursi Pileati " was named from the sign, for, 
as the name indicates, it was the street of " The 
Bear with the Hat on." But it was not until 
late in the fifteenth century that the custom 
gained a footing in England, first of all among 
the taverns and ale-houses. Later came the ne- 
cessity of distinguishing between certain shops, 
brought about by the fact that the houses were 
not numbered, and the people could not read 
word-signs even if they had been lettered in 

When once the system of signs as distinctive 
trade-marks gained full headway, each trades- 
man tried to outdo his neighbor in the size and 
glory of his particular advertisement, until the 
city became one vast display of decorative 
humor. Later on, by permission of Charles I, 
every house had its sign hanging from wooden 

1 60 



brackets or iron rods fixed into the walls of the 
house. The streets of old London were nar- 
row, winding, and dark. The houses projected 
as they rose above the highway until people 
in the upper stories could almost shake hands 
across the street. These narrow places were 
filled with long-armed 
signs, ponderous in 
their weight of iron, 
ridiculous in concep- 
tion, and fantastic in 
their dress of paint. In 
storm and wind they 
groaned and twisted on 
their rusty hinges, mak- 
ing the night hideous 
with noise, and becom- 
ing an absolute menace 
to the traveler on the 

In 1762, after many 
people had been killed 
by the falling of the 
lumbering things, an 
act of Parliament com- 
pelled their removal, 
and ordered that signs 
be placed flat with 
the wall or, if of stone, 
be set into the struc- 

The time has far 
gone when the streets 
of London were filled 
with Blue Boars, Black 
Swans, Red Lions, Fly- 
ing Pigs, and Dogs in 
Armor, together with 
many creatures more 
extraordinary than any 
in the deserts of Africa. 
To study that history is 
to catch a vivid glimpse 
of the English shop- 
keepers at a time when 
they knew not their al- 
phabet. Here we shall find, with Shakspere, 
-many things of worthy memory." 

In Cannon Street, set into the southern wall 
•of the Church of St. Swithin's, may be seen the 
Vol. XXXI. —21. 

" London Stone." It is to-day a rounded 
boulder protected by iron bars. From its situ- 
ation in the center of the longest diameter of 
the city it formed the milliary, like that in the 
Forum in Rome, whence all the distances were 
measured. The exact time when the Romans 


set this stone from which all their roads radiated 
is lost in the mazes of antiquity. This is the 
stone that the rebel Jack Cade smote with his 
bloody sword when he had stormed London 




Charlotte Street, the sign of a wholesale iron- 
monger's establishment. The dog is in the act 
of eating out of a three-legged iron pot which it 
has overturned. 

There were also " The Black Dog " and "The 
Dog and Duck." "The White Greyhound" 
was the sign of John Harrison in St. Paul's 
Churchyard, a bookseller who published some 
of Shakspere's early works. 

The golden grasshopper on the tower of the 
Royal Exchange has been for nearly three and 
a half centuries a London landmark as familiar 
as the cross on St. Paul's or the dragon on Bow 
Church steeple. 

Sir Thomas Gresham, a royal agent in three 
successive reigns, founded the Exchange in the 
reign of Elizabeth. He erected at his own ex- 
pense a beautiful structure in the Flemish style 
of architecture, with shops on the first floor. A 
bell-tower, crowned by a huge grasshopper, 
stood on one side of the chief entrance. The 
bell in this tower summoned the merchants at 
twelve o'clock noon and six o'clock evening. 
During the Great Fire of 1666 the building was 
totally destroyed. The statues of kings and 
queens which ornamented the corridors were 

;.«' !•• .■! 1 '.■'.'■II ' 



Bridge ; and Dryden also mentions the stone in 
his fable of " The Cook and the Fox." Stow 
gives a picturesque glimpse of the old denizens 
of the neighborhood passing by this stone in 
the reign of Henry VIII. 

One of the most notable of old London 
signs, " The Dog's Head in the Iron Pot," had 
its beginning in the early years of the reign of 
that same bluff King Hal. It stands out, a 
lonely figure on Blackfriars Road at the corner of 





precipitated into the enormous cellars, and with 
them the tower and grasshopper. 

Gresham was loyally loved by the metropolis, 
and his generous services were not forgotten. 
From the mountain of debris the grasshopper 
was rescued, and it was placed — a lofty vane 
of gilt brass — above the new dome supported 
by eight Corinthian 
columns, and to this 
hour swings to the 
points of the compass, 
perpetuating the sign 
and crest of the Gresh- 
am family. The old 
clock in this tower had 
four dials and chimed 
four times daily. On 
Sunday, " the 104th 
Psalm " ; on Monday, 
"God Save the King"; 
on Tuesday, " Water- 
loo March " ; on Wed- 
nesday, " There 's nae 
luck aboot the hoose " ; 
on Thursday, " See, 
the Conquering Hero 
Comes"; on Friday, 
" Life Let Us Cher- 
ish"; and on Satur- 
day, " Foot - Guards' 
March." In 1838 fire 
again devastated the 
stately building, begin- 
ning soon after ten at 
night, and by the next 
morning the clock- 
tower alone was stand- 
ing. It is significant 
that the last air played 
by the chimes before 
they went crashing 
through the tower 
roof, crushing the en- 
trance arch below, was 
" There 's nae luck aboot the hoose "; then the 
eight bells ceased their clanging. 

The grasshopper was unharmed, and to this 
day remains, eleven feet of shimmering metal 
looking down from its perch one hundred and 
eight feet above the busy streets. 

There is a legend — containing how much 
truth no man dare say — that Thomas Gresham 
was brought from Holland and left a poor and 
hapless waif on the moors — left among clumps 
of heather and sage-brush to perish. A hunter, 
attracted by the shrill cry of a grasshopper, 
followed the sound and found the boy. Thus 


rescued, the lad, a comely fellow, was placed in 
school, grew up to be the counselor of kings 
and queens, and the founder of an exchange that 
holds a dominating power in the commerce of 
the habitable globe. 

The fact is that the golden grasshopper of Sir 




Thomas Gresham is of classic derivation, dating 
further back than the Roman era. It was the 
favorite ornament of the proud Athenians, who 
considered that the grasshopper cast a spell of 
enchantment, insuring riches and good fortune. 
Lombard Street, noted in history as the great 
London street for bankers, derived its name 
from the Longobards, a race of rich bankers 
who settled there in the reign of Edward II, 
and whose badge, the three golden balls, taken 

street were revived for the recent Coronation 
festivities, and Londoners of to-day were thus 
able to get an idea of how the crooked old 
place might have looked with its pendant signs, 
placed to guide' a people who could not read 
— perhaps quite as sure a guide as the num- 
bering of to-day. For what man or boy could 
not find the sign of "The Grasshopper," " The 
Phenix," "The Black Boy," "The White 
Ram," " The Bunch of Grapes," "The Car- 


from the lower part of the arms of the Dukes 
of Medici, continues to this day to be the sign 
of pawnbrokers — money-lenders. The balls on 
the rich crest of the Medici were blue, and only 
during the last half-century have they, in the 
pawnbrokers' signs, been gilded. The position 
of the balls is popularly believed to indicate that 
there are two chances to one that what is 
brought there will not be redeemed. 

The fifteenth-century signs of this famous old 


dinal's Hat," "The Cat and the Fiddle," "The 
Anchor " ? 

'• The Bull " is a favorite English sign. 
Some have supposed that this fact gave the 
Briton his nickname of "John Bull," though 
others ascribe it to his favorite roast, or say that 
it was derived from the ancient sport of bull- 
baiting. Thus bulls have figured on inn sign- 
boards as black, gray, pied, and even spangled. 

On one of these historic inns in Holborn, 





the great black beast with curved neck paws as 
bravely as ever over the entrance to the old 
courtyard. Lovers of Dickens will recall that 
it was at " The Black Bull " in Holborn that Mrs. 
Gamp and Betsy Prig nursed Mrs. Lewsome. 
" Nussed together, turn and turn about, one off, 
one on." This riotous, proud-looking beast 
will soon find a place in the British Museum. 

There is at Guildhall a relic of rarest interest 
— " The Boar's Head," the sign of an old tavern 
in Eastcheap. This time-honored thoroughfare 
is mentioned as a place of cooks ; and this his- 
toric rendezvous earned and well maintained the 
proud title, "This is the chief tavern in London." 
The ancient sign carved in stone, with the ini- 
tials " I. T." above the snout, and the date 1668, 
is now considered a priceless memento. 

The very name " Boar's Head" conjures up 
the rollicking social life of those times. Here 
for generations the best wits and writers of Lon- 
don used to gather, and around the place scores 
of Shaksperian memories cluster. The original 
tavern stood at the point where Gracechurch 
Street, King William Street, Eastcheap, and 
Cannon Street converge, and on its site is now 
the statue of King William IV. 

Among the exhibits in the Guildhall there 
will be seen, fastened to the same bar, a very 
old pawnbroker's sign and " The Leathern 
Bottle" or "Black Jack," the oldest sign of 
an ale-house. These leather bottles were some- 
times lined with silver or other metal. 

The three feathers of the Prince of Wales is 
a graceful and ancient piece of carving, resting 
in a common brick wall, high above the hurry- 
ing multitude that hourly pass through St. Paul's 
Churchyard. The heraldic origin of the feathei 
badge has been traced back to the Black Prince. 
His crest was sometimes three feathers, some- 
times one. They are placed separately on his 
tomb in Canterbury Cathedral. 

Within the toss of a pebble, but miles away 
from it in spirit, is a sign that marks the highest 
ground in London — the sign of " The Boy and 
Panyer." The boy is seated on a pannier, or 
basket, holding what purports to be a bunch of 
grapes between his hand and foot, in token of 
plenty. Within an ornamental border below 
may be read the inscription : 

" When ye have sought the citty round, 
Yet still this is the highest ground. 

August the 27, 1688." 

This sign, though evidently placed in this nar- 
row passage between Paternoster Row and New- 
gate Street after the Great Fire, doubtless rep- 
resents an earlier sign. From " Liber Albus," 
which treats of the thirteenth and fourteenth 
centuries, we learn that the sale of bread in 

those days was 
not allowed to 
take place in 
the houses of 
bakers them- 
selves, but only 
in the king's 
markets. It was 
sold on the 
street in bas- 
kets, or pan- 
niers. From 
this it is likely 
that Panyer Al- 
ley was noted 
as a standing- 
place for bakers' boys with their panniers. This 
poor little stone boy with his bunch of grapes 
and his bread is located in the east side of the 
alley, so built into the wall that it would not be 
possible to remove the image without destroy- 
ing the wall. It is now boarded up. 

Romance, heroism, genius, philanthropy gath- 


1 66 


ered about Gresham and his grasshopper ; a like 
quartet of virtues and adornments, and many 
more, cluster about Sir Richard Whittington 
and his cat. The story and adventure of this 
brave, beautiful boy has enriched nursery lore 
and become the model for more legends than 
the traditional lives of the cat 
associated with his name. 

A poor boy, orphaned, he 
trudged to London behind a 
market-wagon, having been 
told the streets were paved 
with gold. There he slept on 
the pavement, at last was taken 
in as a service-boy by a rich 
merchant, slept in a garret 
which was overrun with rats, 
earned a penny blacking boots, 
with which he bought a cat, 
which shared with him his mis- 
erable quarters, but not the 
fierce scoldings of the cook. 
The merchant was about to 
send a trading-ship to sea, when 
he called his servants and told 
them that if they possessed any- 
thing they might share with him 
the benefits of barter. Poor 
Dick had nothing but his cat ; 
they scoffed at him, but the 
daughter of the merchant in- 
sisted that he send it. With 
tears, the lonely little fellow said good-by to Tab. 
The captain of the ship found the King of the 
Moroccos overrun with rats and mice, and sold 
the cat for priceless treasure. The goodly mer- 
chant gave it all to the boy, who afterward 
married his daughter Alice. The two together 


left their stamp upon the great city. Whitting- 
ton was three times Lord Mayor of London. 
He was the first to introduce drinking-fountains 
into London, the first to establish and build a 
public library. He founded a college. He 
rebuilt churches, and advanced large sums of 
money to Henry V. 

Whittington was born in 1360 
and died in March, 1423. 

There are many old stories 
about Dick and his cat, but, 
with Dickens, I believe in the 
cat. It is to be seen on the roof 
of the house where Whitting- 
ton lived, it is mentioned on 
his grave, and, beyond this, 
there is conclusive evidence in 
the stone bas-relief now in 
Guildhall. This stone carving 
was discovered, a few years 
ago, in the cellar of a house in 
Gloucester, the very house in 
which the Whittingtons lived 
as far back as 1460. The bas- 
relief represents a boy of nine 
years, with the hood of the pe- 
riod around his shoulders, the 
hair cut square across the fore- 
head and long over the ears, 
the feet bare, and the lad is car- 
rying a cat. The tablet evident- 
ly formed a portion of a larger 
work, a tablet over either a door or a chimney- 
piece. By competent judges it has been pro- 
nounced to be the work of an artist of the fif- 
teenth century, and seems to show that the 
Whittington family was not only acquainted 
with, but was proud of, the story of the cat. 

(To be concluded.) 

J/ JCL? \*/ J lL^xV J1JQ 


With ringing, jingling, tinkling bells, 

The dancing, prancing reindeer tells 

That Christmas day is here again 

With " Peace on earth, good will to men." 

And when dear little sleepy-heads 

Are bundled in their little beds, 

They dream they hear the reindeer's hoofs 

A-pattering on the snowy roofs. 

They dream that Christmas day is here, 
The gladdest day of all the year. 
They dream their stockings overflow, 
Crammed full of gifts from top to toe. 
They dream of lighted Christmas trees, 
Of Christmas frolic, games and glees, 
Roast turkey and plum pudding too — 
Then wake and find their dream is true. 

Carolyn Wells. 

e light 

fully out the windows and 
the open door of the |_-" 

lbune Folks. 

Edn.J by Edward F.B^rel 

" He giveth snow like wool," says the Psalmist, and I always fancy a corresponding sympathy 
beneath the sod at the welcome of the first warm snow — of pallid bulbs and aching roots in warm 
congratulation, and all the tribe of furry folk turning in its burrow to toast its benumbed paws at the 
grateful glow. — William Hamilton Gibson. 

A part of every country boy's work is to keep the wood-box full. Night and morning 
he must fill the big one by the kitchen stove and the little one by the air-tight " Franklin " in 

the sitting-room. But " once upon 
a time " there was a boy (I 
knew him) who thought 
that he had them both 
"full enough" before 
supper. Yet along 
about eight o'clock 
his Aunt Rachel 
went to the window. 
She breathed on the 
frosty pane, and 
looked through 
the bare spot, 
and said : "My! 
how it is snow- 
This is none of your squalls, Howard. 


' Santa Clans has made that spruce into 
a Christmas tree." 

It is going to be deep, even if it is the first one 
of the season." And, with a twinkle in her kindly 
old eyes, " I think you ought to bring in a little more 
wood. And you 'd better pile it up pretty high, too." 

" I don't care much if it is going to be deep," said 
Howard to himself, as he hung the lantern on the wood- 

' The cows are waiting to have the haystack opened.' 




" The happy 
birds are hav- 
ing a feast of seed 


shed beam and loaded his arm with the newly split, 
fragrant sticks of hickory and birch. The lights shone 
cheerfully out the windows and the open door of the L. 
" I can stand it to bring all the wood I can pile back 
of the stovepipe, if there is only good sliding down 
our hill to-morrow, and I rather think there will be." 
It was good the next day. There had been no 
wind, and the snow was smooth and even — oh, just 
perfect! no bare spots, it seemed, in all the world. 
Was n't it beautiful when the sun shone on it? It made 
your eyes blink, it was so bright. The chores must be 
SSjg . attended to in the forenoon, but after 

lunch was the play time. 
Down the cart path, around the barn, across 
lots to the hill by the pond. " See, the 
cows are waiting to have the haystack 
opened. They think that winter has really come." 
" Never mind the cows," said Melville. " See how old Santa 
Claus has made that spruce into a Christmas tree, and stuck 

all the ornaments on it, too. 
There is nothing slow about 
, ,,_ that old fellow." 

What wonders r £ 


"They are 'just 
having fun.' " 

- - follow a first storm! Au- 

tumn goes by with a rush. Mid- 
winter arrives in a single night, and 
the face of nature wears another and different 
expression. The birds are even ahead of the boys. 
Amid a bunch of withered goldenrod, under 
the fence, is an open spot where the snow has 
spread its white cloth, and the happy birds are having a feast of 
seeds. There is not a single creature to which the first snowfall 
brings anything but joy. 

For the rabbits and the mice it turns a new page on which -* . - 

they write learned essays with paws and claws. Up and down, ' " ' v . 

back and forth, in queer hieroglyphics, the writing runs. They are 
not always seeking food. Like the boys, they are " just having 
fun" with the first snowfall! And every boy knows how well he 
likes to do that. Go out on any day after a light fall of snow, 
and look at the tracks between stumps and brush-heaps. 

Country boys make paths in the snow, but theyare not the only 

path-makers. One can easily fancy that the squirrel, looking along 

his zigzag highway on the top rail, says: "What a task I have, to 

get ever all these rails this morning ! " or, " What fun I shall have 

Vol. XXXI.— 22-23. 

"The squirrel looking along his 
zigzag highway." 




'• As if a white blanket had been 
spread over all the ground and the brook." 

when I come to that narrow ridge 
yonder! Chuck-er-r-r-r — " and away 
he goes. If it is a task, it is an easy 
one, and a light heart makes it easier. 
Down through the woods the boys went. 
Said Howard : " It looks as if a white blanket had 
been spread over all the ground and the brook." 
"Yes," agreed Melville; "and it looks as if 
the wool that made the blanket were growing 
on the branches and twigs of the trees." 

'The snow-crowned boulders in the hillside pasture resembled a flock of slumbering sheep. 




The boy who remembers such experiences, 
and looks forward to others of a similar kind, 
has no words to express his enjoyment of it 
all. He is never alone at such times. The 
frolic of the afternoon was so delightful that 
these special boys whom I knew forgot even 
their supper-time, and thought of home only 
when twilight fell around them and the moon 
sailed up into the steely blue sky. Then, in- 
deed, the snow looked like a blanket, and the 
snow-crowned boulders in the hillside pasture 
resembled a flock of slumbering sheep. 


The alarm of the blue jays at the discovery 
of " a cat walking meekly along by the fence 
in the low shrubbery near and under the 
spruce-tree," as related on page 77 of Nature 
and Science for last month, reminds me of a 
story told by Mr. Frank M. Chapman in " The 
Century Magazine." Like all naturalists, Mr. 

Chapman has a large amount of inquisitive- 
ness, and he also has a very high opinion of 
the blue jays' mental powers — of their ability 
to think and to act under new experiences. 
He says of the jay : 

He is indeed well coated with self-esteem who does 
not feel a sense of inferiority in the presence of a jay. 
He is such a shrewd, independent, and aggressive crea- 
ture that one is inevitably led to the belief that he is more 
of a success as a bird than most men are as men. 

In this particular case Mr. Chapman wished 
to know how the jays would treat a stuffed 
screech-owl tied in a tree near their nest. So 
he tied one about two feet from the nest. 
Soon came one jay screaming in alarm, and in 
a few minutes more its mate joined in the 
investigation. Then they went away to the 
woods, as if to talk the matter over and decide 
what to do. Mr. Chapman says : 

I heard them uttering for the first time the low, con- 
versational eck, eck, eck note of their kind. It is a note 
which I have never heard from a solitary jay, and is 






therefore probably used for purposes of intercommuni- 
cation. One frequently hears it from a party of jays 
when they are gathering chestnuts or acorns. 

It was evidently a great "want to know" 
meeting. "What is the thing?" and "What 
shall we do ? " were the questions. 

For ten seconds or more the discussion, if discussion 
it was, continued, and at the end of this time a plan of 
battle had evidently been decided upon, which they 
lost no time in translating into action. They returned 
to the nest-tree, not now a screaming pair of excited, 
frenzied birds who in the control of an unheard-of 
experience had completely lost their heads, but two 
determined, silent creatures, with seemingly well-fixed 
purpose. The difference in their actions when the two 
visits to the nest were compared was in truth suffi- 
ciently impressive to warrant a belief in the birds' 
ability to grasp the situation intelligently. 

Without a moment's hesitation one of the pair now 
selected a perch above the owl, paused only long 
enough to take aim, and then, with a flash of wings, 
sprang at its supposed enemy. What followed, the 

camera, although set for a hundredth part of a second, 
failed definitely to record. The heart of the little pine 
seemed rent by the explosion of a blue jay. It was no 
feint, but a good honest blow delivered with all the 
bird's force of body and pinion, and the poor little owl 
was completely vanquished, upset, at the first on- 
slaught. The jay had given a most convincing exhibi- 
tion of the highest type of courage : it had mastered its 
fears and deliberately gone to battle. I felt like ap- 

But its troubles were not ended. This was a pecu- 
liar kind of owl, different, doubtless, from any that the 
jay had ever before encountered. It was conquered, 
but instead of flying away to some dark nook to nurse 
its wounds, it persisted in remaining on the field, re- 
taining its grasp of the limb, not upright, however, but 
hanging upside down, as no owl was ever seen to do 
before, and, indeed, as only wired owls could. Such 
unheard-of behavior excited the jays even more than 
the owl's first appearance, and from near-by limbs they 
shrieked notes of defiance until, in mercy to their throats 
and my ears, I removed the cause of their alarm, bent 
the branches back to conceal their nest, and left them 
to discuss their remarkable experiences at their leisure. 





Rule i. State carefully all details pertaining to the matter about 
which you inquire or desire to tell others. For the identification of 
insects or plants, send the whole specimen. If the object is an in- 
sect, state where you found it, what it was doing, and on what plant 
it was feeding. If it is a plant, send it all, unless it is too large. In 
that case a branch with flower and leaves will answer. A single 
dried blossom or dead leaf may be recognized if the plant is a com- 
mon one, but it is better to send the whole specimen. 

Rule 2. Inclose stamped and self-addressed envelop if reply is 
desired by mail. We have space to publish very few such inquiries, 
and only those that are of general interest. Stamps must also 
accompany a request for the return of specimens. Write your 
address in full, with street and number when necessary, on your 
letter, on your envelop, and on the box containing the object. 

Rule 3. Answers to questions from parents or teachers will be 
made only by mail, in stamped and self-addressed envelop. A letter 
"dictated" by a boy or a girl and written by a teacher or a parent 
cannot be published. A letter for publication giving information or 
stating observations must be composed and written by the boy or 
the girl whose name is signed to it. The writer's age must be given, 
and the whole indorsed by the parent or the teacher, who must thus 
guarantee its originality. Letters of inquiry need not be so indorsed, 
but should state the age of the writer. 

an elephant afraid of a mouse. 

St. Paul, Minn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have read that an elephant 
is afraid of a mouse, and that a mouse can kill an ele- 
phant if it runs often enough up and down his trunk. 
"Will you please tell me whether it is so or not ? 
With best wishes, 

Ruth M. von Dorn. 

An elephant is usually afraid of any small 
animal to which it is unaccustomed. A dog 
or cat, and sometimes even a mouse, will cause 
him annoyance, especially if it runs between the 
animal's legs. The noise of a mouse running 
through the hay will often cause an elephant 
to become excited, but I have never known or 
heard of a mouse getting on an elephant's 

The terrors of the mouse to a larger animal 
is an old story, and many foolish superstitions 
have arisen from it. In Gilbert White's 
" Natural History of Selborne," Letter LXX, 
written in 1776, tells of a shrew-ash; 

Now a shrew-ash is an ash whose twigs or 
branches, when gently applied to the limbs of cattle, 
will immediately relieve the pains which a beast suffers 
from the running of a shrew-mouse over the part 
affected ; for it is supposed that a shrew-mouse is of so 
baneful and deleterious a nature that wherever it creeps 
over a beast, be it horse, cow, or sheep, the suffering 
animal is afflicted with cruel anguish and threatened 
with the loss of the use of the limb. 

perforated beans. 

Neyvburyport, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : These beans were in a desk 
drawer for several months. We kept finding these 
little insects around the house, but did not know where 
they came from until we found the beans in this con- 
dition. Can you tell me what the insects are ? 
Very truly yours, 

Elizabeth Pilling (age 8). 

Herewith is a photograph of the contents of 
the box you sent. It shows the perforated beans, 
the microscopic bean "chips" (the fine powder 
on and around the beans), and the holes. The 
insects show as black spots in the bean powder. 
These little insects are known as bean-weevils 
(Bruchi(s obsoletus). 

In all such chipping-out holes, whether by 
insects or woodpeckers, it is surprising that the 
diameter is so uniform and the sides so smooth. 
The insect or bird does the work as nicely as 
if the hole were cut with a revolving tool, like 
a drill, bit, or auger. As an excellent example 
of this, see the picture of the perforated wood, 
page 652, Nature and Science for May, 1903. 


The black spots in the rough-appearing powdery chippings sur- 
rounding the beans are the insects that cut the holes. The beans, 
the chippings, and the insects were poured on white cardboard (that 
had been smeared with glue) and then photographed. 





Orange, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Around my home is a good 
deal of goldenrod. This afternoon we had a piece 
measuring seven feet three inches, and I should like to 
know if any of your readers ever saw a taller piece. 
Your devoted reader, 

Annie B. Briggs (age 13). 

This is among the very tallest. Britton and 
Brown's " Illustrated Flora," in a long list of 
varieties of goldenrod, mentions only four as 
exceeding this. One of these is described as 
" one to seven and a half feet" ; the other three 
are "two to eight feet." Eight feet seems to 
be the limit. 

woodcock and snipe. 

Sawkill, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I would like to ask Nature 
and Science a question. What difference is there be- 


tween the birds called woodcocks and those called 
snipes? I have been told that snipe is only another 
name for a woodcock ; indeed, all the farmers near here 
assure me of the fact (?) : but still I am not satisfied. 
My belief is that the snipe is a different bird but of the 
same family or species. I think it has a longer bill 
and its body is not formed similar to that of the wood- 
cock. Am I not right? 

Yours very sincerely, 

Mabel C. Stark (age 14). 

There is quite a long list of birds known as 
snipe, but the one most commonly regarded as 
the snipe is the Wilson's snipe (Gallinago deli- 

There is only one American bird called 
woodcock ; this {Philohela minor) is entirely 
distinct from the various snipe, yet is of simi- 
lar appearance. From this resemblance, or 
snipe-like appearance, the woodcock is incor- 
rectly named (or perhaps we ought to say nick- 


named) blind snipe, wall-eyed snipe, mud 
snipe, big-headed snipe, wood snipe, whistling 
snipe, etc. 

The various true snipe, the one woodcock 
(not really a snipe, but resembling them), and 
various sandpipers that also have long bills and 
bore in the mud, all belong to one family 

All these birds have somewhat similar ap- 
pearance and habits. They frequent lowlands 
or plowed lands, such as corn-fields, where the 
soil is soft, so that they can use their long bills 
in probing for worms or insects, etc. 

The Wilson's snipe is smaller, trimmer of 
figure, and a better flier than the woodcock. 

Dr. A. K. Fisher says of the woodcock: 
" This much sought game-bird is in danger of 
extermination from the barbarous custom of 
hunting it in spring and summer just before 
and during the breeding season." 

Of the pectoral sandpiper, a member of this 
snipe family, Frank Chapman says : " It fre- 
quents wet grassy meadows rather than beaches, 
and, although it flies in flocks, the birds scatter 
while feeding, and take wing one or more at a 
time. Thus they remind one of Wilson's Snipe." 


Sometimes called "grass-snipe." 






Dear St. Nicholas : We had a partridge the other 
day, and I noticed that every feather is double. I will 
inclose a few to show you what I mean. Is that the 
case with all birds that remain in the north during the 
cold weather? It is nice to think of the birds being so 
well provided for during the winter, is it not? 
Your friend, 

Ethel Lee. 


The " double feather " has nothing to do 
with climate. It is found well developed in 
parts of the plumage of certain groups of birds, 
and is entirely lacking in others. Properly 
speaking, the smaller feather is a regular part 
of the complete feather, known as the "after- 
shaft." It is entirely lost in the feathers of the 
wing and tail, and in the body-plumage of 
many species, but in the grouse family it is 
well developed, and in the emu is as large as 
the main shaft. — Witmer Stone. 


The Boulders, Watch Hill, R. I. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Any child liking fairy stories 
will like natural history, for under your own eyes are 
things more strange and wonderful than were ever told 
in a fairy tale, and these are true. When you read about 
the miracles performed in olden times, you think, " How 
strange!" but you do not stop to notice nature, who is 
as strange as miracles under your own eyes. 

Do you ever wish you were a magician ? Nature is 
a magician also. Go to her and you will see how every- 
thing is provided and cared for, and you will under- 


stand how great a 
magician she is. 
Helen Greene 
(age II). 

whelk eggs and 
their cases. 


Dear St. Nicho- 
las : As we all believe 
that you know every- 
thing, will you not 
tell us about these 
queer shells? They 
were found on the 
beach at Atlantic City. 
I inclose just a few. 
They appear to come 
in long strings, as 
we have one string 
about ten inches long, 
and there are larger § 
ones than that. They 
taper toward the end 

of the string. I am exceedingly anxious to see my 
letter answered in the Nature and Science department. 
I am, your ever interested reader, 

Elizabeth A. Gest. 

The specimens you send are whelk egg- 
cases. The short string of cases with the square 
edges are of the whelk known to scientists as 
Fulgur carica; those in the longer string with 

sharp edges are of 
the Fidgur canali- 
culate/,. The square- 
edged cases are es- 
pecially attractive. 
By cutting nearly 
around the rim with 
a knife or scissors, 
one side may be 
lifted as if it were 
the cover of a tiny 
box. The tiny shells 
are packed, though 
rather loosely, but 
without any ap- 
parent order, in 
this box, making 
the whole appear 
somewhat like a 
dainty bonbon-box 
well filled. 







{Cash Prize.) 

It was midnight on the hilltop, and the fire was dim As the angel-vision vanished and the song grew faint 

and low, and far, 

While the weary shepherds slumbered round the em- Clear and radiant in the heavens steadfast shone the 

bers' dying glow, guiding star; 

When a light shone round about them, brighter far Then they traveled on and onward till they reached 

than light of day, the lonely shed 

And they saw an angel standing in its pure and living Where the King of all the nations in a manger laid 

ray. his head. 

He was dressed in white apparel and his face was And the night was hushed and holy, while the star shone 

gravely sweet, over them, 

And he spake unto them gently as they bowed them at And the angel-song rang softly, " Christ Is born in 

his feet. Bethlehem!" 

'Fear ye not," for they were troubled; "news of peace Nineteen hundred years have fleeted since the shep- 

and joy I bring: herds heard that song, 

For to-night in David's city Christ is born, your Lord Since Judea's hills were brightened by the presence of 

and King." that throng; 

As he spoke, adown the heavens, borne as on the But adown the distant ages, when the Christmas-time 

ocean's swell, draws near, 

Angel forms came floating nearer, angel voices rose and And our hearths and homes are brightened with the 

fell: Christmas warmth and cheer, — 

'Unto God the highest glory. Peace on earth. To When our hearts with love grow warmer as the light 

men good will," glows in a gem, — 

Pealed the anthem, that triumphant echoes down the Softly steals the angels' message, " Christ is born in 

ages still. Bethlehem!" 

Among all evenings in the year, and all the days, 
there is no other evening like Christmas eve, no other 
day like Christmas day. Whether the eve and the day 
be dark and stormy, or still and fair, does not matter. 
The difference is not in the weather or the season, but 
in that more subtle atmosphere which, from generation 
to generation through all the centuries, has been our 
inheritance from that first Christmas eve and day when 
a new-born Babe sent its wailing cry from the manger 
of Bethlehem. 

The world looks different through this Christmas 
atmosphere. However festive or sad the occasion, how- 
ever gay or gloomy the streets may be, whatever may be 

our surroundings, the Christmas feeling is there. No 
one may say just wherein it lies. It is like an unseen 
halo that glorifies and makes holy every good thought 
and impulse, while it reveals in darker relief whatever is 
tragic, unworthy, or vicious. A great disaster on Christ- 
mas eve or day shocks us as it does at no other season ; a 
great joy comes in that sweet raiment of gladness that 
only Christmas brings. Through nineteen centuries 
has this light lingered round the hearts of men, and 
through all those ages it has not grown dim. Year after 
year slips by and is added to the past. But with each 
Christmas eve and day our homes and our highways are 
once more filled with the old, sweet joy — the halo from 
that star which rose o'er Bethlehem. 





In making awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

Verse. Cash prize, Agnes Churchill Lacy (age 15), 
care of Tootle Lemon National Bank, St. Joseph, Mo. 
Gold badge, Beulah H. Ridgeway (age 14), 574 
Carlton Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Margaret Drew (age 8), St. Anthony 
Park, Minn., and Aline Murray (age 15), Metuchen, 

Prose. Gold badges, Lester M. Beattie (age 15), 
120 E. Main St., Norwalk, Ohio, and Lorena Mary 
McDermott (age 12), St. Jo, Texas. 

Silver badges, Louise Lytle Kimball (age 10), 5309 
Westminster St., Pittsburg, Pa., and Margaret B. 
Richardson (age n), 92 Bayard St., New Brunswick, 

Drawing. Gold badges, James H. Daugherty (age 
16), 2145 N St., N. W., Washington, D. C, and 
Ralph G. Heard (age 14), 27 Green St., Hudson, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Dorothy Ochtman (age 11), Coscob, 
Conn., Florence Ewing 
Wilkinson (age 14), Kirk- 
ham Ave., Webster Grove, 
Mo., and Katherine Baga- 
ley (age 9), Palmer, Fla. 

Photography. Cash 

prize, Kenneth Howie 
(age 17), 48 Sedgwick St., 
Mount Ary, Philadelphia, 

Gold badges, Canema 
Bowers (age 16), Montpe- 
lier, Vt., and Marjorie C. 
Newell (age 14), 9 Hovey 
St., Gloucester, Mass. 

Silver badges, Alice 
Garland (age 14), 227 
Newberry St., Boston, 
Mass., Karl Dodge (age 
11), "The Osborne," 58th 
St. and 7th Ave., New 
York City, and Hardenia 
R. Fletcher (age 12), Ac- 
comac, Va. 

Wild-animal and Bird 
Photography. First prize, 
"Deer," by Ruth H. Cald- 
well (age 14), 20 Ridge- 
wood Place, Springfield, 
Mass. Second prize, 

" Auk," by Ada G. Ken- "happiness. 

dall (age 14), 215 W. Park 

St., Portland, Ore. Third prize, " Sea-gull," by George 
Davenport Hay ward (age 14), 365 Newberry St., Bos- 
ton, Mass. 

Puzzle-making. Goklbadges,DaisyJames(agei7),4 
Meadow Field, Dewsbury, Yorkshire, England, and Mar- 
jorie Holmes (age 14), 704 Palafox St., Pensacola, Fla. 

Silver badges, Ethel Paine (age 13), 1401 Wood 
Ave., Colorado Springs, Col., and Jean C. Freeman 
(age 13), 1 115 E. Capitol St., Washington, D. C. 

Puzzle-answers. Gold badge, Laura E. Jones (age 
15), 1845 Arlington Place, Chicago, 111. 

Silver badge, Lillian G. Leete (age 13), 64 Alexan- 
drine Ave., W., Detroit, Mich. 



{Gold Badge.) 

On a day late in November, 1620, a sailing-vessel 
bearing the name " Mayflower " was approaching land 
just off Cape Cod, on the coast of New England. The 
day was a cold, bleak, stormy one, the wind driving the 
waves high up on the shore. That part of the country 
was then destitute of civilization, and the one hundred 
men, women, and children on board the Mayflower 
were the first white people to settle there permanently. 
Having separated from the Church of England, to 
which the king had tried to compel their allegiance, 
they came to America, where they might enjoy religious 
liberty. They were pilgrims, going far away to make 
their home in a strange land. 

A few weeks after they had landed, on December 21, 
some of the men of the company made their way west- 
ward from the cape, and found a fine harbor on the 
shore of the mainland ; so at this place the Pilgrims 

The St. Nicholas League membership is free. 
Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
will be sent a League badge and instruction leaflet on application. 


made their settlement, and called it Plymouth, in memory 
of the good old English town from which they had sailed. 
During the first winter nearly half the colonists 
died ; but when the Mayflower returned to England in 
the spring of 1621, not one Pilgrim went back. But 
they all gathered at the shore when the ship departed, 
and, as Longfellow says : 

" Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the 

Much endeared to them all as something living and 
human ; 

Then, as if filled with the Spirit, and wrapt in a 
vision prophetic, 

Baring his hoary head, the excellent elder of Plym- 

Said, 'Let us pray!' and they prayed, and thanked 
the Lord and took courage." 

1 7 8 



It is this courage that is 
the most wonderful and 
commendable of all the 
good qualities of the Pil- 
grims. With hearts strong 
and true they so faithfully 
bore the hardships and 
sufferings of their lives 
that we honor them as 
much as any other people 
in American history. Even 
the Indians and the terri- 
ble winters could not drive 
them away : they remained ; 
and the influence of their 
brave example has spread 
over our whole country. 
Plymouth Rock, on which 
the Pilgrim fathers landed, 
has been called the "step- 
ping-stone of New Eng- 
land." But I think that a 
better name would be, the 
"corner-stone of the Amer- 
ican republic." 


MOTT (AGE 12). 

{Gold Badge.) 

The battle of the Alamo was fought March 6, 1836, 
in San Antonio, Texas, in an old stone mission built in 
the earlier Texas days. 

This bloody battle was fought by a mere handful of 
the Texas garrison against the Mexicans, who had the 
advantage of them, both in men and armament. General 




Travis was in charge when he heard that Santa Anna, the 
" Napoleon of the West," as he proudly called himself, 
was coming to make the attack. Travis sent a message 
for aid, but reinforcements did not get there in time. 

The noble general did not tell his men until the last 
hour, when he said : " We must die soon, and we have 
three ways of choosing the manner of our death. We 
can try to escape, and be slaughtered before we can get 
half through the enemy's ranks ; we can surrender, and 
be shot; or we- can stay here and fight. Everyman 
may do as he pleases ; but I, for one, would rather stay 
here and sell our lives as dearly as possible." 

After he finished this speech, he drew a line across 
the floor, and said : " Those who are willing to stay and 
fight with me step across this line." All eagerly went 
to the other side except one man. 

Soon after, Santa Anna and his army came. Some 
of his men wanted to fall back, but Santa Anna ordered 
every one to be shot who did so. There was a valiant 
fight on the Texas side, but at last they were overcome, 
and there was not one man of the brave band left stand- 
ing to tell the story. 

Those immortal Texas names, Travis, Bowie, Bon- 
ham, and Crockett, are dear to every liberty-lovingTexan. 

Texas is now one of the leading States, whose liberty 
was purchased by the blood of her brave sons, who 
fought valiantly for it until it was wrested from the 
grasp of her enemies. This is why all native Texans 
love the story of the Alamo. 



(Gold Badge.) 
In the heavens the stars are shining, while upon the 

earth below 
Their bright glory is reflectedon the pure new-fallen snow. 
Far away the chimes of church bells borne upon the 

frosty air 
Peal a welcome to the people who have come to worship 






While the spiritof theChristmas-time again and yet again, 
Seems repeated in the anthem, " Peace on earth, good 
will to men! " 

Oh, that message by the angels given once so long ago 
To the shepherds as they watched their flocks upon the 

plains below 
Comes down through all the centuries and makes the 

whole world kin! 
For the spirit of the Christmas-time each heart will 

enter in ; 
And to all men alike it comes again and yet again ; 
It rings out in the anthem, " Peace on earth, good will 

to men!" 

And heavyhearts grow lighter andcare-worn faces bright, 

And troubles are forgotten in the glow of Christmas light ; 

For old and young, for rich and poor, it rings from 
shore to shore ; 

It 's come through all the ages to bring joy for ever- 
more ; 

'T is the spirit of the Christimas-time again and yet 
again ; 

We hear it in the anthem, " Peace on earth, good will 
to men ! " 

gone to the fort for safety. 
When the Indians made the 
fiercest attack there were 
only twelve men in the fort. 
They had made up their 
minds to save the lives of 
the women and children. 
Every man could shoot a 
rifle, and they had guns 
enough, but very little gun- 
powder, so they never fired 
unless they were sure of 
hitting someone. The In- 
dians kept shooting all the 
time. After fighting a long 
time, the Indians went into 
the woods to rest. The 
white men found that they 
had used nearly all their 
gunpowder. They now be- 
gan to wish for a keg of 
gunpowder they had left 
in a house outside. They 
knew that whoever went 
for it would be seen and 
fired at by the Indians. 
The colonel called his men 
together, and told them 
that he did not want to 
make any one go for it, 
but he would like to have 
some one offer to go. 
Three or four young men offered to go. The colonel 
told them they must decide among themselves. But 
not one of them was willing to give up. Then a girl 
walked forward and said, "Let me go for the gunpow- 
der." The young men were astonished. The colonel 
said, "No." And her friends asked her not to go. 

League members should replace their lost or broken badges. 
New ones are sent free. This offer does not include prize 



(Silver Badge.) 

Fort Henry was built on the Ohio River, near Wheel- 
ing. During the Revolutionary War some Indians 
who were fighting on the English side attacked Fort 
Henry and tried to take it. All the men outside were 
killed. The women and children of the village had all 





One would think that Molly would have been over- 
come with grief at her husband's death, but Molly had 
a soldier's spirit inside a woman's heart ; so she loaded 
and fired the gun all through the rest of the day, to the 
great admiration of all the men. 

The next day General Greene went to see Molly, and 
found her all stained with dirt and powder, as she had 
been the day of the battle. He led her to General 
Washington, who was very much pleased at her brave 
act ; and though he did not generally give commissions 
to women, he did to Molly. He made her sergeant, and 
had her name put on the list of half-pay officers for life. 

The French regiment on the American side invited 
Molly (or Captain Molly, as she was called) to review 
their troops. She did so, and as she walked up and 
down the line, with her hat in her hand, almost every 
man dropped a piece of money into it. 

Molly did not live long after her last but most famous 

It is now one hundred and twenty-five years since 
this brave woman fought on the Monmouth battle-field ; 
and one reason why this is my favorite episode in his- 
tory is because the battle was fought very near our town. 


"You have n't enough men in the fort now," she 
said, " and if I am killed you will be as brave and strong 
as before"; and she went. The gate was opened just 
wide enough for her to get out. When she got to the 
house, she poured the gunpowder into her apron, and 
started back. The Indians fired at her, but missed her. 
The gate was opened, and she got in. And when you 
think of the Revolutionary War, always remember that 
one of the best fighters in that war was Elizabeth Zane. 



{Silver Badge.) 

'T was Polly, my dolly, I dressed for the fair ; 
She has pretty blue eyes and light curly hair. 
I took all the stitches so nice and so neat, 
And when she was dressed she looked very sweet. 
Thousands of people passed her by 
When she was sitting there so high, 
And said, " How pretty — that dolly!" 
And 't was just my Polly! 


{Silver Badge.) 

My favorite episode in history is the battle of Mon- 
mouth, where Molly Pitcher so distinguished herself. 
Molly was with her husband — a cannoneer — in the many 
battles he fought, for she scorned housework. She was 
with him in the battle of Monmouth, supplying him with 
water from a spring near by. He was fresh and cool, 
while others were parched with thirst that midsummer 
day of June 28, 1778, until he was killed by a ball shot 
from the English side. Then Molly showed her cour- 
age. She slipped into her husband's coat and put on 
his hat, and just as the men were going to roll the can- 
non away, Molly stepped up and said, " I will take my 
husband's place " ; and before the astonished soldiers 
could stop her she had stepped to the cannon. 



{Silver Badge.) 

The snow lies deep on the moorlands, 

The night sinks gently down, 
While the chill wind's sad vibrations 

Shake the forest bare and brown ; 
But although the night is dreary, 

There 's a glory in the skies ; 
For, behold, the little Christ-child 

In a manger lowly lies. 



Oh, wild winds, carry the 
And spread the tidings 
That the birth of the King 
of Glory 
Is heralded by a star! 

Oh, angels, with exultation 
Sing loud your praises 
While the wise men haste 
from distant lands 
To worship at his feet! 
For he was by angels wel- 
And by prophets long 

So they travel far through the gloomy night 
To offer him myrrh and gold. 



Before describing my favorite episode, I will speak 
of some of the circumstances preceding it. It was a 
period of great mental and spiritual darkness in all 
nations. The poorer classes of men were trodden 
down and shamefully oppressed by rich tyrants. The 
religions of that time were many and varied. Yet there 
was not one true faith, one comforting, life-giving be- 
lief, existing. Sin and cruelty there were on every 

In a certain small village, one night was unusually 
peaceful for those tumultuous times. All the world 
seemed waiting in an expectant hush. The moon shone 
with a beautiful luster everwhere, yet shone with pecu- 
liar brightness on a humble shed. Peace without, but 
greater peace within, this lowly cattle-shed. For here 



the dim lantern's rays dis- 
closed a young woman rest- 
ing on fragrant hay amidst 
the gently breathing oxen, 
with a baby on her arm, 
and that baby was the 
Prince of Peace. 

The great light which 
flooded the dark, silent hill 
where the shepherds guard- 
ed their flock at the same 
moment that the Christ 
came into the world, as a 
little child, to seek and 
save, was symbolic of the 
greater light which then 
flooded the whole world 




and changed gloomy night into dawn. That dawn has 
been growing brighter and brighter till, eventually, it 
will become brilliant day. 

I have not chosen, as my favorite episode in history, 
a famous battle, or the discovery of new, strange lands, 
greatly as such events shape the world's future. Instead, 
I have chosen the birth of a little child, because ulti- 
mately the battles and discoveries shall sink into ob- 
livion, while this glad episode of Christmas day will be 
rapturously told by every tongue. 



" What! not any snow on Christmas day? " 
Poor little Bobbie said. 
He expected a sled all painted gay, 
And he wanted to try that sled. 

The week before Christmas brought no snow, 

For the air, though cold, was clear, 
And the mist that rose when the sun was low 

With the stars would disappear. 

On Christmas eve in his little cot, 

By the night-lamp burning dim, 
He dreamed 'mongst the presents that Santa brought 

Was a snowfall white for him. 

The others their stockings had emptied with glee 
When he woke from his dream at last ; 

A glimpse through the window — how glad was he! 
It was snowing thick and fast! 






" Edith," said Helen to her sister, who was reading, 
" what is your favorite episode in history? " 

"Well," said Edith, "I 
don't know that I ever 
thought of it." But here 
they were interrupted by 
their little sister Dot : 

" What does episode 
mean? " 

" Episode means an 
event," answered Edith. 

"Well, then, my favor- 
ite is the War of the 

" Why, when did you 
ever hear of the War of the 
Roses?" asked Edith, tak- 
ing Dot in her lap. 

" I heard Helen talking 
about it to one of her school 
friends, and I think it must 
have been lovely to have 
seen them fighting with 
roses, don't you, Edith?" 

At this her two sisters 
laughed heartily, but Edith hastened to explain : "They 
did n't fight with roses, Dot ; they used guns." 

" Why did they call it the War of the Roses, then? " 
she asked, getting more interested. " Tell me all 
about it." 

" Well," said Edith, " the war was in England, and 
it was not a war between different countries ; it was a 
civil war." 

" But I don't know what a civil war is," said Dot. 

" It 's a war where, instead of two countries fighting 
each other, the people of one country quarrel and 
divide, and engage in war among themselves. 

" War is a very terrible thing, so many men get killed 
and wounded. And civil war is the worst kind, be- 



cause the people that should be loving and fighting for 
each other are fighting against each other. Some- 
times it is different, and civil wars are to keep the coun- 
try together or banish some evil. But in the War of 
the Roses they were just selfishly fighting for the 

"The two sides were York and Lancaster, and in- 
stead of taking the flag of the country, as they do in 
wars between different countries, they each took a rose, 
which is the emblem of England. 

" The Yorkists took a white rose and the Lan- 
caster a red rose. 

" That is the reason they called it the ' War of 
the Roses.' " 

" How long ago was it, Edith ? " inquired Dot. 

" Four hundred and fifty years ago," said 

Edith. " I will tell you more about it some 

other day, and then perhaps you will change 

your mind about your favorite episode." 



I hear the sound of Christmas bells 
That chime so sweet and clear ; 

The old familiar carols greet 
The closing of the year. 

The wild sweet chimes seem to repeat 

Again and yet again 
The words that tell of faith and trust, 

Of peace, good will to men. 

Each year the olden melody 
Rings out from belfries high, 

And soon a peaceful quiet reigns 
Beneath the starlit sky. 

Long years ago a twinkling star 
Shone brighter far than day ; 

It guided them — the wise men brave — 
To where the Christ-child lay. 



I8 3 

A lowly manger for a crib 
Where slept the infant 
While o'er his head a halo 
shone — 
Oh, happy angels, 'sing! 

Ring on, glad bells 
of Christmas- 
Proclaim to all 
again : 
Glory to God in 
the highest, 
And peace, good 
will to men!" 

window, and seeing the group of hated "lobster- 
backs," inquired : 

"What do ye, thieves, waking honest people 
this time of night ? " 

" Call us not thieves, for we came for your brave 



Every American has heard of Paul Revere, and every 
American has read the stirring lines of Longfellow's 
poem : 

" He said to his friend, ' If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 

Of the North Church tower as a signal light.'" 

But who was this friend? Few people know of him. 
He was one of the unknown heroes of the Revolutionary 
War! His name was Robert Newman, and he lived in 
a corner house a few rods away from the Old North 

On the evening of the 18th of April, in 1 775» ne 
wandered here and there until dark, watching all move- 
ments the British troops made. 

When he had been convinced that they were going 
by boat to the Charlestown shore, he hastened to the 
church, unlocked the door, entered, and locked it behind 

Taking his lanterns, he mounted the stairs, climbed 
the ladder to the belfry, hung the lights, and started down. 

When about half-way down he heard the " red- 
coats " beating on the door with the butts of their mus- 
kets and shouting loudly for admittance. 

They had seen the lanterns, knew that some one was 
signaling, and were going to catch that " rebel." 

Newman, knowing full well the danger of falling into 
their hands, ran down the rest of the flight, hastened 
through the church aisles, and jumped through a back 
window just as the door fell. 

After alighting, the signaler dodged through shrub- 
bery and alleys, and, reaching his home unmolested, 
barred the door and crept into bed. 

The British, after knocking the doors in and finding 
no one, supposed it was Newman (for he was known as 
a signaler), started for his house, and arriving there, 
began to beat upon the door. 

His wife, hearing the noise, put her head out the 

AGE 15. 

husband," they sneeringly retorted. Then she 
replied : 

" He tarried but a moment, and is gone." 
Upon hearing this bit of news the soldiers 
departed, but presently returned and demanded 
to search the house. 

_ .__ . They came upon Newman, 

and dragging him out, made 
him dress and took him before 
General Gage. 
But he was afterward released, and soon entered a 
Massachusetts regiment and the Continental Army. 
Such was the deed of Robert Newman, unknown hero. 
The house in which he lived is still standing, but is 
converted into a bake-shop ; and the church window 
through which he escaped is now closed up by a paint- 
ing of John Adams. 

Every reader of St. Nicholas should be a member of the 
St. Nicholas League, and every member of the League 
should belong to a chapter. 

"happiness." by grover t. corning, age 17. 






When the days grow shorter 

And the snow doth fall, 
Children we hear singing, 
" Christ he loveth all." 

Then we hang our stockings 

By the fireside, 
And the children whisper, 
" It is Christmas-tide." 




When the Carthaginians, with the aid of the Spartan 
Xanthippus, defeated the Romans in one of the battles 
of the first Punic war, Regulus, consul and commander 
of the Roman forces, was taken prisoner and brought to 

Here he was kept for two years, pining in captivity. 

At last the tideof battle turned ; 
the Romans were victorious. The 
enemy, disheartened by the loss 
of many of their possessions, sent 
Regulus back to his home to make 
peace. He was promised his lib- 
erty if he should be successful. 

Regulus went to the gates of 
Rome as commanded, but refused 
to enter, saying : 

" I am no longer a Roman citi- 
zen. I am but the barbarians' 
slave, and the Senate may not 
give audience to strangers within 
the walls." 

His wife and his two sons came 
out to meet him, rejoicing that 
he had at last returned home. 
Imagine how sorry they were 
when they learned under what 
circumstances he had come! 

He met the Senate outside the 
walls of Rome. After the Cartha- 
ginian ambassadors had spoken, 

his turn came. "Conscript fathers," he said, " being 
a slave to the Carthaginians, I come, on the part of my 
masters, to treat with you concerning peace." When 
asked his opinion, he advised the Romans to continue 
the war, and not even to exchange prisoners ; for the 
Carthaginian generals, he said, who were in the posses- 
sion of the Romans, were healthy and strong, while he 
himself was worn out by long imprisonment. 

Even the stern Romans were surprised to hear a man 
argue thus against himself, and were unwilling that 
Regulus should be put into the power of the Carthagi- 
nians. The chief priest declared that, since the oath 
had been forced upon Regulus, he was not by duty 
bound to keep it. However, the latter was determined 
to return to imprisonment, to suffer the punishments 
which the Carthaginians would inflict, and which he 
knew would end in his death. 

What need to comment upon the brave deed of 
Regulus? The story speaks for itself. The man who 
will die for his country is great ; but the man who, like 
Regulus, will endure captivity, torture, as well as death, 
for his fatherland — that man is a true patriot. 



In the merry Christmas season, 
With the children flocking nigh, 

While the bells are ringing sweetly 
Far above us in the sky, 

" He is coming! He is coming!" 

Cry the children, every one. 
" Here comes Santa! Here comes Santa! 

Now for dolls and toys and fun." 

And the saint, with cheeks of crimson, 
While his furs are dingy brown, 

Comes with bags of toys and presents — 
Through the chimney he comes dow n. 



With Accompanying Picture. 

Some rave and sing of " sweetest spring," 
Of " breeze and bird and bee," 

Of "glancing showers" and 
" dancing flowers " — 
But Christmas-time 's for me. 

Some moan and sigh for " sum- 
mer sky," 
For " roses and sweet pea," 
For " shady trees " and " play- 
ful breeze " — 
But Christmas-time 's for me. 

Some like the fall, the blackbird's 
And hail Jack Frost with glee, 
And "pumpkin-pie" and "au- 
tumn sky " — 
But Christmas-time 's for me. 

For then comes the cold, when 
the year grows old, 
And the earth is sad to see 
In her funeral gown of white and 
brown — 
But Christmas-time 's for me. 



Address, Box 38, 


Now is the time to form chapters, as Entertainment Competition 
No. 3 will be announced very soon. 

No. 673. "Busy Bees." Edith Helles, President; Helena 
McMuIlin, Secretary ; six members. Address, 2631 Brighton Ave., 
Los Angeles, California. 

No. 674. Margaret Brown, President; Helen Tripp, Secretary; 
three members. Address, 307 Main St., Phoenixville, Pa. 

No. 675. " Kriss Kringle." Minnie Chase, President; Elsie 
Philip, Secretary ; sixteen members. Address, Bluehill, Me. 

No. 676. "Pioneers." Hjalmer Nicander, President; Edward 
White, Secretary; six members. Address, 64 Asylum St., New 
Haven, Conn. 

No. 677. " Girls' Southern Band." Catherine Pindar, President ; 
three members. Address, 411 Ashley St., Valdosta, Ga. 

No. 678. Vivian Dowdell, President; Beula Hines, Secretary; 
ten members. Address, Preston, Minn. 

No. 679. " Happy Quartette." Claire Eckersley, President ; 
Madge Denison, Secretary; four members. 
Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ont., Canada. 

No. 680. "The Trio." Sallie Barnwell, President; Nettie 
Barnwell, Secretary; three members. Address, Hendersonville, 
N. C. 

No. 681. "V. I. C." Marguerite Spratt, Secretary; seven 
members. Address, 555 6th Ave., Helena, Mont. 

No. 682. " Goldenrod." Dorothy Kuhns, President; Anna 
Berryhill, Secretary ; four members. Address, 550 Portland Ave., 
St. Paul, Minn. 

No. 683 "Sherwood Foresters." Mollie Saxton, President; 
Florence Greenhalgh, Secretary; five members. Address, Dene- 
hurst, 12 Baker St., Nottingham, England. 


Katherine A. Page, Teaneck Road, Englewood, N. J., would 
like to hear again from the League member who wrote to her last 
summer. She has lost the letter and forgotten the address. 

The St. Nicholas League does not find that it has space enough 
for an exchange column. We are very sorry, therefore, to be 
obliged to omit the many notices of stamps, post-cards, etc., offered 
in exchange. 


Dear St. Nicholas : I have received my beautiful gold badge, 
after some little delay caused by my being out of town, and want to 
thank you not only for it, but for the long months of work that at 
last has been successful. I am glad that my badge did not come 
when first I commenced to work for it — nearly three years ago, just 
after I earned the silver one ; for I know that the many disappoint- 
ments, though they were hard, helped me on to do the work that 
has resulted in my owning this 
beautiful pin. I thank you, how 
much it is impossible to say. 

Ever your most devoted reader 
and League member, 

Ellen Dunwoody. 

Hilltop Farm, Little- 
ton, N. H. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I take 
the St. Nicholas and like it 
very much. 

I am eleven years old and I 
have just made up a little verse 
which 1 inclose : 

evening song. 
At evening when the sun is low 
The hermit-thrush's song is 
heard ; 
I wish my little song might go 
As far and high as that dear 

I hope I can write something 
good enough for the League next 
lime. Sincerely yours, 

Elizabeth Adams. 

Jamestown, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: The 
badge is beautiful and I am de- 
lighted with it; all my friends 
are, too. 

The first I knew of my win- 
ning the prize was when I read 
of it in the morning paper, and 
I can tell you I was surprised ; 
I hardly knew whether to laugh 
or cry. 



The' only trouble is that the pin is so nice I hate to wear it for 
fear of losing it. 

I hope sometime to win a gold badge, but at present am content 
with my silver one. Your loving reader, Alleine Langford. 

Other interesting 



letters have been received from Phoebe Hunter, 
Daisy James, Vivien Dowdell, 
Dorothy G. Thayers, Mary D. 
Bergen, Karl M. Mann, Melton 
R. Owen, Pauline K. Angell, 
Alma Jean Wing, Isabel M. 
Clark, Sidonia Deutsch, Edwin 
E. Bolte, Herbert Steirier, Mar- 
ion E. Lane, Lillian Jackson, 
Helen Gyrnell Rogers, B. Has- 
selman, John Griffin Penny- 
packer, Marie Harari, Virginia 
Jones, Irene E. Dearnley, Cath- 
erine Pindar, Alan Gregg, Emilie 

A. Ide, Mildred S. Huntington, 
Lewise Seymour, Katharine H. 
Stout, Florence C. Ingalls, Anna 
Culver, Ruth Bartlett, Amelia S. 
Ferguson, Ruth Helen Brierley, 
William N. Coupland, Douglas 
Trowbridge, Elizabeth B. G. 
Fowler, Alice Lorraine An- 
drews, Charles Josef Carey, 
Fred Graf, Edith M. Andrews, 
Philip Stark, Rebecca Chilcott, 
Bessie Marshall, H. Constance 
Campbell, Jean Herbet, Eugenie 

B. Baker, Susan Molleson, Ger- 
trude H. Henry, Flora H. 
Boggs, Grace Hawthorne Bliss, 
Tula Latzke, Grace Leading- 
ham, Mabel Fletcher, Dorothy 
H. Kuhns, Winifred A. Shaw, 
Mary Cromer, Louise K. Cow- 
drey, Frances Renshaw Latzke, 
J. C. Prewitt, Susan W. Wilbur, 
Warren Haynes, William P. An- 
derson, E. Daniels, Shirley Wil- 
lis, Fred W. Haserick, Ruth P. 
Brown, Helen Scober, B. Blake, 
and Kenneth Howie. 

Vol. XXXI.— 24. 





No. i. A list of 
those whose work 
would have been 
published had space 

No. 2. A list of 
those whose work en- 
titles them to honor- 
able mention and en- 

Saidee E. Kennedy 
Margaret Wright 
Clarice E. Smith 
Henry Altman 
Grace Lois Mailhouse 
Walter Swindell Davis 
Helen Kagoe 
Ethel Messervy 
Gladys L'E. Moore 
Jane Meldrim 
Harriette B irney Burt 
Mary L. Crosby 
H. M. Conklin 
Elsa Falk 

Clara Shanafelt 
Ruth Gardiner 
Susan Warren Wilbur 
A. Eleanor t lifton 
L. Beatrice Todd 
Irma Jessie Diescher 
Louisa F. Spear 
Brewer Goodsell 
Jessie Freeman Foster 
Harriet Gage 
A. Elizabeth Goldberg 
Ruth Reeder 
Marguerite Stunrt 
Harriet F.velyn Works 
Horace Hotchkiss 

Emily Rose Burt 
Conrad P. Aiken 
Lillian E. Van Wert 
Mary Yeula Wescott 
Marjorie Macy 
Margaret C. Richey 
Helen Greene 
Harriet Fox 
Seward C. Simons 
Marian Elizabeth Case 
Frances Cobb Minor 
Dorothy Lenroot 
Alison Winslow 
Mary Blossom Bloss 
Margaret Merriam 

Helen Drew 
Frances Paine 
Louis Stix Weiss 
Eva Levy 


Marguerite Borden 
Marjory C. Todd 
Mildred Palmer 
Helen Spear 
Miriam C. Gould 
Katherine Kurz 
Dorothy Sievens 
Mabel Guernsey 
Bessie Salyer 
Ellen Dorothy Bach 
Laura Wells 
Irma Castle Hanford 
Eunice M. Schoff 
Helen D. Bailey 
Ruth Havenner Dar- 

Lucie C. Jones 
Catherine Montgomery 
Elizabeth Clirke 
Mary Van Wormer 
Clara P. Pond 
Helen D. Bell 
Helen E. Eberle 
Lillie McConnell 
Florence Gage Hatton 
Christine Graham 
Ruth T. Abbott 
Carolyn Coit Stevens 


Melville Coleman Le- 

May Wilson Ball 

Ruth M. Keran 

Elise Urquhart 

Jacob Salzman 

Mildred Curran-Smith 

Emily B. Melcher 

Helen E. Jacoby 

Nancy Barnhart 

Julia S. Lovejoy 

Bessie B. Styron 

Ruth Felt 

Lucy Elizabeth B. 

Marjorie L. Gilmour 

Meade Bolton 

Gladys Ralston Britton 

Lettie F. Maxwell 

Margery Fulton 

Greta T. Frik 

Cordner H. Smith 

Margaret Dobson 

Francis Keeline 

Elizabeth Stockton 

Harold Helm 

William L. Brown 

Bessie Townley 

Rita Wood 

Isadore Douglas 

Marguerite Eastman 

Nancy Huntly 

Philip M. Ustick 

Margaret Tyler 

Gladys Nelson 

Mary Clarke 

Georgina Wood 

A. Brooks Lister 

Isabella Howland 

Edwina Hall 


Annie Genge 
Aimee Vervalen 
W. I. Masters 
Mary Clarke 
Mary Selina Tebault 
Alice Josephine Goss 
Joseph B. Mazzano 
M. Alice Clark 
Margaret R. Leland 
Helen de Veer 
Beatrice Andrews 
Joseph McGurk 
Mary U. Woodman 


Helen Emerson 
Sydney B. Childs 
Caroline Latzke 
Zena Parker 
Margery Bradshaw 
:. Eugenie B. Baker 

Frances R. Newcomb 
Elizabeth Tappan 
Ella Preston 
Elizabeth A. Gest 
Margaret Cate 
Henry Olen 
Florence Short 
Florence Gardiner 
Gretchen Walther 
Katie Nina Miller 
E. R. Saunders 
Eunice McGilvra 
Roger K. Lane 
Marsaret W. Peck 
Madeleine Sweet 
Isabel Howell 
Frances E. Pennock 
Jessie H. Hewitt 
Marcia Hoyt 
Anita Moffett 
Eleanor G. Finch 
Clinton Brown 
Julia Ford Fiebeger 
Helen S. Eggleston 

Francis A. Chapin 
Mildred Eastey 
Anne Heap Gleaves 
Marjorie Gabain 
Elizabeth Coolidge 
Christina B. Fisher 
Lois Williams 
Mary E. B. Jones 
Susette Long 
Katharine Thompson 
Dorothy B Wilkinson 
Katherine D. Barbour 
Herman Goebel 
Ruth P. Brown 
Clara Goods 
F. Hosford 
Edith Thompson 
Robert H. Gibson 
Alice Perkins 
Charles M. Jones 
Dorothy T. Hollister 
Marian J. Sherwood 
Mary Daniel Gordon 
Katherine Gibson 
Dorothy Hamilton 
Emily W. Browne 
Ernest J. Clare 
Joan Spencer-Smith 
Mariaret Spencer- 


H. O. Phillips 
Amy Eliot Mayo 
Eno Hamm 
John E Woodruff 
Hilda Proctor 
Dorothy Richardson 
Charles M. Ffoulke.Jr. 
Heyliger de Windt 
Lilla B. Kirby 
Marion K. Cobb 
Margaret Strasser 
Edwin Shoemaker 
John H. Hills 
M. A. Arpesani 
Holden C. Harlow 
W. F. Harold Braun 
Gertrude W. Smith 
Judith Wilkes 
Julia H. Shepley 
Helen A. Almy 
Catherine Delano 
Helen F. Carter 
Warren H. Smith 
Olive A. Gtanger 
Hilda C. Foster 

S. R. Jelliffe 
George B. Walbridge 
Clara Beth Haven 
Loring C. Carpenter 
J. Arthur Richardson 
Marion S. Almy 
Lawrence Palmer 
L. Evelyn Deering 
Morrison N. Stiles 
Margaret C. Houston 
Arthur J ennings White 
Marjorie Parks 
James Monaghan, Jr. 
Adelaide Gillis 
Constance Freeman 
Claud S. Hyman 
Margaret King 
Bessie May Miller 
Reynold A. Spaeth 
Dorothy Wormser 
Emma B. Atherstone 


Arthur M. McCIure 
Fannie H. Bickford 
Martha G. Schreyer 
Elene H. Bensel 
Mary F. Jackson 
Theoda F. Bush 
Charles H. Abbott 
Belle Warner Stork 
Florence Hoyte 
Ruth Helen Brierley 
Carolyn C. Bailey 
T. Sam Parsons 
E. Bunting Moore 
Bessie Ballard 
Priscilla Mitchell See- 
Jean Forgens 
Roswell M. Curtis 
Gertrude V. Trump- 

R. J. Chany 
Katharine L. Marvin 
Katharine Wadsworth 
Isabella Puffer 
A. Leonard Jacobi 
Charles McKnight 
Florence C. Ingalls 
Mary P. Damane 
Dorothy W. Stanton 
Anna M. McKechnie 
Morris Douglas 
Barbara Horton 
Rae H. Ackerson 
Louise Tate 


Katharine Lawrence 

Archibald Campbell 
Ada M. Keigwin 
Dorothy McKee 
Victor N. Loweree 
Sidney Edward Dick- 

Hazel C. Cockroft 
Eleanor F. Twining 
Ruth P. Teele 
Leila A. Haven 
Fannie M. Stern 
Chalmers Hall 
Allen W. Reid 
Alice K. Bushnell 

Marjorie Browning 
Harold Andrews 
Phebe Hart-Smith 
Philip P. Cole 
Charles Ellison, Jr. 
Eleanor Kinsey 
Fredericka Going 
J. H. Knapp, Jr. 

Elizabeth P. Dough- 
Henry Reginald Carey 
Wardee Cheek 
Susan J. Sweetser 
Frederick Eckstein 
Sylvia Knowles 
Charlotte Sperree 
Margaret Garthwaite 
Betty Lockett 
Jessie Dunning 
Nancy Coleman 
Eleanor Anderson 
Dorothy Gray Brooks 
Charlie W. Brown 
Ruth Garland 
W. Caldwell Webb 
Rose Heller 
Phi'ip A. Barton 
Ethel Bailey 
Irving Chapman 
Kate S. Tillett 
H. Leroy Tirrell 
Emma Atherstone 
Wendell F. Power 
Launcelot J. Gamble 
Rudolph Willard 
Marie Davenport Rus- 


Julia B. Chapin 

Mary Thornton 

J. Herbert Hodgins 

Cula Latzke 

Edith Muriel Andrews 

Mary Frank Kimball 

Nellie Caspary 

Florence Lenore Wil- 

Laura Wells 

Muriel M. K.E.Doug- 

Frances M. F. Ran- 

Gladys M Cornish 

Francis E. Gardner 

Elizabeth Helm 

Alice C. Phillips 

Mary Scales Miller 

Florence R. T. Smith 

Francis Shiiver 

Anne Cushing 

Virginia Livingston 

H. Constance Camp- 

Mary E. Cromer 

Elizabeth Yardley 

Frederick S. Gest 

Bessie Bunzel 

Constance Badger 

David B Campbell, 

John Rice Miner 

Hilda Ryan 

Bennie Hasselman 

Margaret Marsh 

Shirley Willis 

Rollin L. Tilton 

Charles P. Howard 

Dorothy Russell 

Edmund Wilson 

Irene Weil 

Leonard Swain 

Lawrence H. Cheno- 

Willi im P. Anderson 

Dorothy Cuthbert Le 

Sarah Brown 

Edna Bennet 

Nannie C. Barr 

Florence Stinchcomb 

Hazel V. Boyd 

Florence K.. Hanawalt. 

Franklin Rowland 

Mildred L. Smith 

Dorothy Culver 

Erna Klinzing 

Mary Smith 

Charles Steinway 



I8 7 


Eugene V. Connell 
Nancy Moore 


Bert Durden 
Eleanor Jcwett 

Willia Nelson 
Ruth Fulton 
Fein L. Patten 
Helen Frocligh 
Signe Swanstrom 
Helen A. Scnbner 
Hadassah Backus 

Anna Marguerite Neu- Florence O'Donnell 

E. Adelaide Hahn 
Mack Hays 
William R. M. Very 
Mabel C. Stark 
Margaret Abbott 
Wilmot S. Close 
Christine Graham 
James Brews er 

Prose. Article or story of not more than four hundred words. 
Title, " A Family Tradition." 

Photograph. Any size, interior or exterior, mounted or un- 
mounted, no blue prints or negatives. Subject, " Shadows." 
Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash 
(not color), interior or exterior. Two subjects, 
" My Best Friend, or Friends" and "A Heading 
for March." 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be ac- 
companied by the answer in full. 

Puzzle-answers. Best, neatest, and 
most complete set of answers to puz- 
zles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 

Wild-animal or Bird Photograph. 
To encourage the pursuing of game 
with a camera instead of a gun. For 
the best photograph of a wild animal 
or bird taken in its natural home: 
First Prize, five dollars and League 
Second Prize, three dollars and League 
Third Prize, League gold badge. 

gold badge, 
gold badge. 

Edward V. White 
Jessie E. Wilcox 
Isabella Tilford 
Rita Wanninger 
Louise K. Ball 
Robert A. Kilduffe 
Luther Dana Fernald 
Philip J. Wicksee 

Louis Bronson Le Due William Ellis Keysor 
Oscar D. Stevenson Jennie S. Miihken 

Eleanor Hissey 
Russell S. Reynolds 
Constance Caroline 

Lester F. Babcock 
Alia Lewis 
Jessie Pringle Palmer 

Adele J oline Connelly Helen Hoag 
Alan Cameron Mc- Laura Laurenson 

Donald Byrne 

Evelyn O. Foster Marjorie H. Sawyer 

Katharine C. Hood Katharine J. Bailey 
Alfred Andrews Helen A. Lee 

Paul Mariett Anne Kress 

Lewis King Underhill Jeanie Slight 
Delia Harmon Vnrrell James J. Porter 
Robert Powell Cotter Marguerite Brewster 

Edward Stafford 
Elsie F. Weil 
Maud E. Dilliard 
Elise Lnrd Bradford 
Dorothea Gay 
Edith Blain 
Marion E. Lane 
I. Hortense La Porte 
Julia E. Willkie 
Mary P. Parsons 
Ileta Lee Gilmer 


Oswald D. Reich 
Mary Thompson 
Alberta E. Alexander 
Lawrence Eddy 
Phoebe Hunter 


Elizabeth Keen 
L. Arnold Post 

E. K. Harris 
Laura E. Lent 
Madge Oakley 
Anna H. Taylor 
Bonnie Aii^-ell 
Agnes Miller Lowe 


Marion Jacqueline 

Eleanor Marvin 
Lester Jay Reynolds 
Oscar C. Lautz 
Martin Janowitz 
Rachel Rhnades 
ftledora Addison 
Ruth Moss 
William Munford Ba- 
Marion E. Larrabee 
George T. Heintz^ 
Agnes R. Lane 
Charles Heintz 
Arthur McAuslan 
Dorothy C. Cooper 
Daisy James 
Gertrude Souther 


AGE r5. 



A Special Cash Prize. To any League member 
who has won a gold badge for any of the 
above-named achievements, and shall 
again win first place, a cash prize of 
Jive dollars will be awarded, 
instead of another gold badge. 

Competition No. 51 
will close December 20 
(for foreign members De- 
cember 25). The awards will be 
announced and prize contribu- 
tions published in St. Nicho- 
las for March. 

Verse. To contain not more 
than twenty-four lines, and may 
be illustrated, if desired, with 
not more than two drawings or 
photographs by the author, and 
to relate in some manner to 
" Forgiveness." 


Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear 
the name, age, and address of the sender, and be in- 
dorsed as " original " by parent, teacher, 
or guardian, who must be convinced be- 
yond doubt that the contribution is not cop- 
ied, but wholly the work and idea of 
the sender. If prose, the number of 
words should also be added. These 
things must not be on a separate 
sheet, but on the contributioji itself 
— if a manuscript, on the upper 
margin ; if a picture, on the margin 
or back. Write or draw on one side 
of the paper only. A contributor 
may send but one contribution a 
month — not one of each kind, 
but one only. 

Address all communications : 



The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Sq., New York. 


In the October number the 

A CORRECTION. . , . .. A - , . 

time to send in lists of books 
about the sea was stated to end on September 25, 
which was an error. In view of this mistake, 
the time will be extended to December 15. 

the prize Evidently the idea of 

award. spending a vacation in a 

favorite book proved attractive, for there were 
many competitors, and the work of all was sur- 
prisingly good. The young writers were re- 
markably successful in catching what is called 
the " atmosphere " of the books chosen, and in 
giving the touches of character. So good were 
the papers submitted that the awarding of only 
three prizes leaves unrewarded some exceed- 
ingly creditable work, work very nearly as fine 
as that of these three prize-winners : 

First Prize, $5.00, Eunice Fuller (15), 170 
Prospect St., Providence, R. I. 

Second Prize, $3.00, Gladys Ralston Brit- 
ton (17), The Audubon, 39th St., New 
York City. 

Third Prize, $2.00, Ruth Barratt Young 
(15), Kirkwood, Mo. 

The three subjects chosen by these writers, 
respectively, were : " My Visit to the Peterkins " 
(" Peterkin Papers "), " A Visit to Owd Bob of 
Kenmuir " (" Bob, Son of Battle "), and " Boat- 
ing with the Marches," (" Little Women "). 
The first-prize story is printed below. 

Closely following these winning stories came 
the work of the following competitors, who 
specially deserve 


Emily Rose Burt (15). 
Marguerite Child (16). 
Alfred P. Merryman 


Margaret M. Lene- 

han (13). 
Olive H. Lovett (15). 
Helen L. Slack (15). 
Florence Clement 


Virginia Coryell Cra- 
ven (16). 

Mabel Fletcher (16). 

H. Louise Chamber- 
lain (13). 

Ruth Allaire (16). 

Beatrice Walmsley 

Doris Francklyn (16). 

Edwina O'Brien (12). 

As to the books selected, they varied so that 
it is hardly possible to group them. " Little 
Women " was the most favored, "Alice in Won- 
derland " coming next. " David Copperfield " 
and " Little Lord Fauntleroy " were chosen by 
two competitors each. The little " Peterkin 
Paper " follows : 

By Eunice Fuller. 

I had come to visit the Peterkins, and was 
surprised to find no one at the train, as the lady 
from Philadelphia had written that Agamemnon 
would be there. As I approached the house, 
I saw the family standing in a line, Mr. Peter- 
kin at the head, and the little boys, in their in- 
dia-rubber boots, at the foot. After they had 
greeted me, they all cried : " Where is Aga- 
memnon ? " 

" I have n't seen him ! " said I. 

" He must be lost ! " said Elizabeth Eliza. 

Mrs. Peterkin feared .he was killed. She 
had always declared it was dangerous to walk 
in the street nowadays, for one never could tell 
about the cars, and any moment a horse might 
rush out at one, and she had always been afraid 
of trains and stations anyway. 

The little boys proposed to go to find him, 
each taking a different direction. Mrs. Peter- 
kin was afraid that in that way they would all be 
lost. Solomon John said that in such cases 
men always had a rendezvous. Elizabeth Eliza, 
however, thought one of the little boys might 
forget the time of meeting, and not be on hand 
at the right hour; then all the others would 
think he was lost, and go to search for him, 
and valuable time would be wasted. 

" Yes," said Mr. Peterkin ; " we must think 
of something else." 

At last Solomon John hit upon a plan. He 
said that in ancient times, when Theseus went 
into a labyrinth, he carried an end of string 
while some one outside held the other end, and 
when he wished to come out he followed the 
string. He suggested that Mrs. Peterkin 
should hold the ends of several strings, while 
the little boys should take the other ends. In 
this way no one could get lost. 

"That," said Mr. Peterkin, "comes of going 
to school." 

Elizabeth Eliza, however, who had begun 
geometry at school, proposed that, using Mrs. 


l8 9 

Peterkin as a center and the strings as radii, 
they should walk about in a circle, and thus 
traverse a good portion of the neighborhood. 
Mrs. Peterkin was sure that she should feel 
dizzy if so many people went around her. Solo- 
mon John was afraid this method would occa- 
sion climbing fences. But Elizabeth Eliza said 
Mrs. Peterkin would soon get used to the mo- 
tion, and the little boys declared that from a 
high fence they might see Agamemnon in the 

So Mrs. Peterkin, with firmly closed eyes, 
seated herself on the door-step, and the little 
boys began to carry out Elizabeth Eliza's plan. 
Suddenly Mrs. Peterkin opened her eyes with a 
start. One of the strings had snapped! In 
her fright she dropped the other strings, which 
fast disappeared from sight. The family grew 
apprehensive. The little boys would surely be 
lost ! What was to be done ? 

At this moment I spied Agamemnon coming 
around thecorner,followedbyall threelittleboys. 
Mrs. Peterkin almost fainted with joy. "At last," 
she cried, " we are again united as a family! " 


There is something more 
in a wood than the trees that 
make it, and there is more in books grouped to- 
gether than their mere addition would account 
for. The very same volumes would be put 
together by different persons in a different way, 
and the result of one arrangement would be a 
library, and the other might give — only a mass of 
books. It is well for young owners of books to 
give up to them some comfortable corner of a 
favorite room, so as to make a " favorite place 
for reading " during the winter evenings. Make 
it so attractive that whenever you want to settle 
down in it you will find it occupied by your 
mother, aunt, or little sister ; and then cultivate 
your moral nature by quietly withdrawing to 
the next most comfortable place. 

If you were to travel 
across an interesting land, 
would you prefer to go through on a limited 
express, or to walk through, with plenty of time 
for side excursions and sight-seeing ? And yet — 
Surely the moral is obvious. Some young read- 
ers find in a good book about a dozen times 
as much treasure as others carry away from it ; 
and you are fortunate if you are like a young 
girl who said : " I can't read a good book fast. 



I can't understand it if I read it fast." She is 
likely to become well read in spite of herself. 
How many generations of men have been at work 
upon Shakspere, Dante, and Homer, without 
any danger of exhausting the mine of wealth 
these offer! And the Bible ! — it is as exhaust- 
less as eternity. No one ever will come to the 
end of the riches in that great library of every 
species of literature. Every wise man who has 
ever made a list of the greatest books in the 
world has put the Bible first. It is said that 
young people are reading the Bible less than 
they once did; if it be true, it is sure they are 
employing their reading hours to less advan- 
tage. Do all of you know the beautiful little 
" reading editions " now being published ? 

From that very good 

book we may quote the 
saying concerning the " putting away of chiM- 
ish things " ; such, for instance, as those books 
for young readers that die with one reading — 
utterly squeezed dry. It is wise to keep trying 
books that you may think a little too old for 
you. Possibly you are reading below your 
capacity, and that is not desirable. Ask older 
people to recommend books to you — but choose 
your older advisers with your best judgment. 

About Christmas -time 

the wise child lets his taste 
in books be known. This is not a proverb from 
the Persian, but good sense from Yankeeland. 
arrangement Have you ever tried 

of books. putting together the books 

that suit special moods ? The amusing books, 
the stories of adventure, the home stories being 
grouped so that when you feel like reading some 
particular sort, you may at a glance see all 
your treasures that appeal to that momentary 
interest ? It is not a bad plan. But the possi- 
bilities of arrangement are endless, and we all 
have our favorite plans. I wonder if there is 
any book-lover who can refrain from putting in 
one row his most attractive bindings? — the 
gay, gilded leather covers that make a little 
court of nobilities ? If there is any reader who 
can refrain from this harmless pageantry, he 
must be the owner of an unusually logical 
mind, or else lacks the soul of order. 



Baltimore, Md, 

Dear St. Nicholas : I would like to tell your read- 
ers about a club to which I belong, which gives me the 
great pleasure of helping some poor children to have a 
Merry Christmas. 

It is called the " Junior Empty Stocking Club," and 
the girls and boys meet once each week, from October 
until Christmas, to dress dolls, fill marble-bags, string 
necklaces, etc. We meet at the home of our young 
president — " Our Dorothy," as we call her. 

Last year we dressed fifteen hundred little dolls for 
the girls, and supplied horns and marbles for the boys. 

There is a Senior Club, composed of older people, to 
whom we report. They are kept busy collecting stock- 
ings and all the necessary good things to put in them, 
and have them ready for distribution on the 18th at the 
Grand Opera House. 

When we have finished dressing the dolls — just as 
stylishly and daintily and richly as possible — they are 
collected and grouped in the big parlors of our presi- 
dent's house, and the parents and friends of the mem- 
bers are asked to examine our work. The dolls always 
look so attractive, and the rooms seem to be filled with 
immense flower-beds and bushes, with pretty dolls as 
flowers. They are afterward packed in hampers and 
sent to the Opera House to await careful distribution 
with the stockings. 

The Senior Club has a large committee to search the 
city and give the poorest children, from four to twelve 
years of age, admission badges and car-fare. (This lat- 
ter is donated by the Electric Railway Company.) 

The day previous to the distribution, the Senior mem- 
bers meet on the big stage, where barrels of candy and 
barrels of apples, bags of nuts, boxes of oranges, stacks 
of handkerchiefs, etc., are waiting to be divided and 
placed into the black stockings, two thousand pairs of 
which are in immense piles. This is what each stock- 
ing contained last year : its mate rolled up in the toe ; a 
pocketbook with five new pennies ; a good linen hand- 
kerchief ; bag of candy ; nuts ; an orange ; an apple. 

When all are filled and securely tied, they are placed 
in hampers, ready for good Santa the following day. 
When those two thousand children are gathered in the 
Opera House, it is a sight that makes us think how 
contented we should be. 

They are first entertained by the chaplain of the club, 
who is the good friend of every boy and girl he meets. 

Moving pictures and a drill by the Juniors next hold 
their attention. 1 hen a comedian appears and asks 
them to assist him to sing some popular melodies, and 
they will sing and sing, until their voices seem to raise 
the roof. 

When the curtain rises again all is dark. Suddenly 
a big star shines up in the air ; smaller ones appear, and 
then all the lights shine, and a glorious Christmas tree, 
twenty-five feet high, is greeted with happy childish 

All about the stage are banks of stockings, horns, and 
such a lot of dolls, etc. In the meantime Santa Claus 
appears and speaks to the children, telling them to march 
up on the stage and each will be given a stocking ■ — "if 
they 're good." 

The music commences, and the march across the stage 
begins. We are allowed to give out the dolls, and the 

Junior boys the horns and marbles, while good St. 
Nicholas places a well-filled stocking in each happy 

When it is all over, we wish our friends a Merry 
Christmas, and I know we children, for the past five 
years that we have done this work, have been happier for 
having put some brightness in the lives of our poorer 
neighbors. I always like to think of the little girls going 
to sleep with the dolls in their arms. 

Lovingly your friend, 

May Richardson. 

Gloucester, Mass. 
My dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write 
and tell you how fond of you I am. My father gave 
you to me for Christmas two years ago, and I like 
the stories and sketches very much. I am a little girl 
eleven years old, and I travel around with my father, 
who is captain of a trading vessel. We have been at 
Gibraltar, where there are so many British soldiers. 
It is a very interesting old town. But I like America 
best of all the countries I have been to, and I was very 
glad to land at Gloucester, which papa says is one of 
the greatest fishing ports in the world. Good-by! 
From your devoted little reader, 

Angelica Butts de Blois (age n). 

St. Louis, Mo. 

My dear St. Nicholas : I thank you very much 
for giving me the cash prize in the League competition. 
It certainly was a surprise, for I did not even dream of 
getting it. 

Even my little baby sister, four years old, wants to 
send a picture to St. Nicholas, and rigs up a box for 
a camera to take one. My parents always say their 
children have been half raised on St, Nicholas, and I 
am thankful for it, for nothing on earth is better. 

Your faithful reader, Hugo Graf. 

Milwaukee, Wis. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We are five New Yorkers on 
our way to California to spend the winter with our 
mother, who is ill, and we are stopping here for two 
days. We spent our summer in the Tyrol, and it was 
lovely. The Swiss lakes are beautiful, and there were 
so many English children to play with. We each had 
a lovely little donkey to ride, and there were a good 
many goats. Then we went to France and Germany, 
and afterward to England, where we stayed at a real 
English country house, near Oxford, which belonged 
to our great-grandmother. They have many automo- 
biles or motor-cars there. We have taken you since 
1896 and like you very much. You traveled through 
Europe with us, and now you are going to California. 
We are all going to sign this. 
Lovingly yours, 

John Beekman Barry (14). 

Elizabeth Loring Barry (13). 

Douglass Palmer Barry (9). 

Dorothea Pauline Barry (9). 

Angela Muriel Barry (6). 



Charade. Extenuate (x-ten-u-8). 

Word-square. i. Blast. 2. Lance. 3. Annex. 4. Scent 
5. Texts. 

Concealed Diagonal. Election. Cross-words: i. En 
trance. 2, Slippers. 3, Elegance. 4. Pitching. 5. Inaction. 6 
Parisian. 7. Governor. 8. American. 

Two Zigzags I. 1. Corn. 2. Dove. 3. Rock. 4. Anon. 5 
Sack. 6. Lone. 7. Nose. 8. Ague. From 1 to 2, Corn-song, 
II. 1. Flaw. 2. Ache. 3. Levi. 4. Mite. 5 ~ 
7. Tale. 8. Pare. From 3 to 4, Whittier. 

Mathematical Puzzle. R-i-d-d-l-e B-o-x. 

Coat. 6. Lair. 

Illustrated Numerical Enigma. 
He comes ! He comes! The Frost Spirit comes ! 

You may trace his footsteps now 
On the naked woods and the blasted fields 

And the brown hill's withered brow. J. G. whittier. 

Endless Chain. i. Orange. 2. Gentle. 
Thrash. 5. Shiver. 6. Ermine. 7. Nectar. 
Damsel. 10. Elapse. 11. Search, 12. Change, 

Zigzag. Thanksgiving. Cross-words: 1. Tavern. 2 Thrive 
3. Autumn. 4. Annual. 5. Kindle. 6. Aspect. 7. Gobble. 8 
Circle. 9. Violet. 10. Divide. 11. Notice. 12. Aghast. 

3. Length. 4. 
3. Armada. 9- 

To OUR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from Joe Carlada — " Allil and 
Adi" — "Johnny Bear" — " Chuck " — Laura E Jones. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from Alfred Satterthwpite, 4 — Harold L. 
Godwin, 3 — M. Davis, 1 — J. Charleston, 1 — Amelia S. Ferguson, 6 — Helen de Haven, 7 — Wilmot S. Close, 5 — Lillian G. Leete, 8 — 
Margaret C. Wilby, 9 — A. Canfield, 1. 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and writlen one below 
another in the order here given, the diagonal (beginning 
with the upper left-hand letter and ending with the lower 
right-hand letter) will spell a December festival. 

Cross-words : 1. An assembly. 2. Tending to 
promote health. 3. A beautiful blue mineral. 4. 
Withdraws definitely from a high office. 5. Additional. 
6. To find out for a certainty. 7. A plum-like fruit, 
very harsh and astringent until it has been exposed to 
frost. 8. The principal church in a diocese. 9. A full 
collection of implements. marjorie holmes. 


{Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

My firsts are in butcher, but not in kill ; 
My seconds, in note, but not in bill ; 
My thirds are in gallon, but not in quart ; 
My fourths are in long, but not in short ; 
My fifths are in rain, and also in hail ; 
My sixths are in thunder, but not in gale; 
My sevenths, in almond, but not in nut; 
My wholes, three countries of Europe. 

(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

I AM composed of eighty-one letters, and I form a 
quotation from one of Scott's poems. 

My 76-61-54-73-47-19-21-58 is an old name for Christ- 
mas. My 59-42-30-69-77 are juicy fruits. My 72-66- 
67-15-80-10-31-60-57 is an ancient heathen emblem used 
at Christmas. My 24-44-9-12-81-71 are s< ngs of joy. 
My 52-70-40-23-3-22-50 is a beverage formerly much 
used in England at Christmas. My 7-79-65-34-16 is 
merriment. My 5-14-35-20 is an ancient norse deity. 
My 37-26-6-36-2-75 is the coldest season of the year. 

My 56-17-43-28 is part of a ship. My 25-13-4-33 is 
expectancy. My 64-49-32-68 is the handle of a sword. 
My 18-46-27-55 is to determine. My 1 1 is a point of 
the compass. My 29-8-41-1 mean a couple. My 63-74- 
53-45-78 is the summit. My 48-38-39-62-51 is to swing 
in a circle. ETHEL PAINE., 

CONNECTED DIAMONDS. diamonds are only to be read across. The 
long middle word, however, may Le read either across 
or up and down. 

I. Upper Left-hand Diamond : 1. In strong. 2. 
A cooking utensil. 3. A poet. 4. To associate with. 
5. A flower named for a beautiful youth who became 
enamoured of his own image. 6. A vegetable. 7. A 
bowl. 8. The whole amount. 9. In strong. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond : 1. In strong. 

2. A weapon of war. 3. A musical instrument. 4. A 
masculine name. 5. A large, showy flower. 6. A 
feminine name. 7. Birds of prey. 8. A large body of 
water. 9. In strong. 

III.- Lower Diamond: i. In strong. 2. To stuff. 

3. The next after the eighth. 4. Pastures. 5. A small 
shore game-bird. 6. A fruit. 7. A scholar. 8. To 
perceive. 9. In strong. 

DAISY JAMES (League Member).. 





My first proclaims the peep of day; 

My second'?, filled with sweetness; 
My second smooths life's tangled snarls 

An:l aids the maiden's neatness. 
My whole adorns my pompous first; 

My whole in pride is basking; 
My zvhole believes that every maid 

Would wed him for the asking. 



One word is concealed in each sentence. When these 
have been rightly guessed and written one below another, 
the initials will spell the name of a famous cardinal. 

1. If you fear a certain animal, avoid it. 

2. He slid each time he passed the slippery path. 

3. Tragic as the ending was, it made no great im- 

4. Hannah and I will join you soon. 

5. Henry says the moon will disappear late to-night. 

6. The animal ate all the food I offered. 

7. I risked my life in climbing the steep cliff. 

8. Grace picked a large bouquet this afternoon. 

9. The house, repainted, looked as good as new. 

MADGE oakley (League Member). 


# # * *- * # 

Reading Downward : 1. A feminine name. 2. A 
book for autographs. 3. An organ of the body. 4. In 
addition. 5. A waterfall. 6. To endure. 7. A poem. 
8. A swamp. 9. Skill. 10. An article. 11. Useful in 
a small boat. 12. A feminine name. 13. To lubricate. 
14. Entire. 15. Consumed. 16. A measure of weight. 
17. In cardinal. 

From 1 to 2, a famous man who perished by the 
sword. ANGUS M. BERRY. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When these have been rightly guessed and writ- 
ten one below another, the zigzag (beginning with the 
upper left-hand letter and ending with the lower left- 
hand letter) will spell the first and last names of a 
President of the United States. 

CROSS-woRps: 1. To tell over again. 2. Good 
sense. 3. Posture. 4. A cap worn in bed to protect 
the head. 5. A brief statement of facts concerning the 
health of some distinguished personage. 6. An abso- 
lute sovereign. 7. To establish the identity of. 8. One 

of the United States. 9. A severe snow-storm. 10. 
Faint-hearted. 11. Aloft. 12. The universe. 13. A 
pointed instrument of the dagger kind fitted on the muz- 
zle ?^. * r '^ e- J 4- A formal method of performing acts 
of civility. 15. Approbation. JEAN C. FREEMAN. 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the diagonal, beginning with the upper left- 
hand letter and ending with the lower right-hand letter, 
will snell the name of a famous musician. 

Cross- words: i. Method. 2. An engine of war. 
3. A nose. 4. To conduct. 5. Showy clothes. 6. 
A sudden alarm. richard blucher (age 9). 


I. Doubly behead to chide sharply, and leave aged. 
2. Doubly behead high estimation, and leave a conjunc- 
tion. 3. Doubly behead a kind of small type, and leave 
devoured. 4. Doubly behead the Mohammedan Bible, 
and leave raced. 5. Doubly behead passages out of a 
place, and leave a possessive pronoun. 6. Doubly be- 
head a fish, and leave a place of refuge. 7. Doubly be- 
head value, and leave a form of water. 8. Doubly 
behead the after-song, and leave a lyric poem. 9. 
Doubly behead to dress, and leave a line of light. 10. 
Doubly behead an inhabitant of Rome, and leave a hu- 
man being. 11. Doubly behead a masculine name, and 
leave to conquer. 

The initial letters of the words before beheading will 
spell the name of a very famous personage. 

Samuel p. Haldenstein (League Member). 


We hold the merry Christmas cheer 
And greetings of the glad new year. 

(One word is concealed in each sentence.) 

1. Minerva pinned, with perfect taste, 
A chestnut bur upon her waist. 

2. A band of coral one inch wide 
Adorned her hat-brim's under side. 

3. And, as she walked, she swung with grace 
A parasol around her face. 

4. Across the lawn she swiftly moved, 

But high-heeled boots her downfall proved. 

5. For when the bordering walk she jumped, 
She hurt her pride — her nose was bumped. 

6. She tried to run because it rained, 
And found her foot was badly sprained. 

7. She simply said : " I jumped too soon ; 
One should not jump in May or June. 

8. I 've hurt my instep some — it feels 
As if I needed higher heels." 





( ' ' Chased by Wolves, ' ' page 214. ) 


Vol. XXXI. 

JANUARY, 1904. 

No. 3. 


By Elliott Flower. 

Just where "Jimmie Dandy" got that name 
probably never will be known. There is a tra- 
dition in the ward to the effect that an admir- 
ing stranger once asserted that the boy was a 
"Jim Dandy," and, as "Jim" seemed rather a 
harsh name for so small an urchin, his com- 
panions made it "Jimmie." At any rate, to all 
intents and purposes, Jimmie Dandy was his 
name — the only name to which he answered. 
Even his mother had finally accepted it, al- 
though it in no way corresponded with the 
name by which she was known. It was easier 
to do this than it was to hold to the real name, 
and Jimmie's mother was more inclined to re- 
duce than to increase the hardships of life. 

In a sense, the name certainly was appro- 
priate. Jimmie Dandy was bright and resource- 
ful. He had the elements of leadership, and it 
was due to his surroundings rather than to his 
nature that this leadership took an unfortunate 
turn. There was nothing innately bad about 
Jimmie, but there was about his surroundings. 
His only playground was the street, and the 
associations of a slum street are far from good. 
There were some of the boys in the neighbor- 
hood who went to the Juvenile Court, and 
returned under surveillance. They were not 
exactly watched, but the probation officer made 
periodical visits at irregular intervals to their 
homes to see how they were getting along. 

Copyright, 1903, by The Century Co. 

In these surroundings Jimmie thrived and 
prospered, according to his opportunities. In 
other words, he was foremost in mischief of all 
kinds. He had had the truant officers after him 
several times, and he had been known to play 
tricks on the policeman on the beat. Then, too, 
he had been accused of pilfering in a small 
way, and, at the head of his "gang," he be- 
came a terror to small shopkeepers. The good- 
natured policeman warned him once or twice, 
but Jimmie had acquired the overweening con- 
fidence of power — the power to lead and con- 
trol " the gang." 

So it happened that one morning he found 
himself in the Juvenile Court, and his mother 
was there also, whining and pleading. Jimmie 
regarded her — alas! — with some contempt. 
He would n't whine or plead — not he. The 
law had caught him, and he would simply make 
the best of it. To put it in words that had be- 
come familiar to him, he would " take his medi- 
cine like a man." 

The judge seemed to share the boy's disre- 
spect of the mother's behavior. He was almost 
impatient with her. 

" Please, judge, your honor," she begged, " he 's 
a good boy, only a little wild. Don't be hard 
on him, judge. Listen to a poor mother, judge, 
an' don't be hard on him." 

" If you would give him a little more strict 

All rights reserved. 




attention yourself, he might be a good boy," 
said the judge. 

"Judge, your honor, I 'm a poor woman!" 
wailed the mother. 

" I know all about it," asserted the judge. 
" Everything possible was done before bringing 
the boy here, but you refused to assist the truant 
officer in any way. In fact, you told her to 
mind her own business." 

" But, judge, your honor — " 

" Stand back, please ! " interrupted the judge. 

There are mothers and mothers, and the 
judge of a Juvenile Court becomes familiar with 
all kinds. The one who resents all efforts to 
help her child, who thwarts the truant and other 
officers in every possible way, and then comes 
whining into court, is the one with whom he has 
the least sympathy, although he may under- 
stand perfectly that her neglect is due to igno- 
rance rather than lack of interest. 

The judge beckoned to the truant officer — a 
woman — at whose suggestion the boy had been 
brought into court. 

" Don't listen to her ! " cried the mother. 
" She 's tryin' to give the boy a bad name." 

" Be quiet ! " said the judge. 

Then the story was told. The boy had been 
drifting from bad to worse, until it seemed 
advisable to send him to the Parental School. 
He had played truant repeatedly ; his petty 
pilferings had made life a burden to the corner 
grocer ; he had run amuck with his " gang," to 
the great distress of Italian fruit-peddlers ; he 
had thrown stones with considerable resulting 
damage : in fact, without committing any seri- 
ous offense, he had been guilty of a large num- 
ber of minor ones, and, unless checked in time, 
there was every likelihood that he would enter 
upon a career of crime and disgrace. 

" But I don't think he 's a bad boy," added 
the truant officer. " If he had proper influences 
I think he would be all right." 

" Listen to that, now ! " broke in the mother; 
" an' me doin' all I can for him ! Oh, judge, 
your honor — " 

" If you don't keep still," threatened the 
judge, " I shall have to have you removed from 
the room." 

" How can I keep still, judge, your honor, 
when poor little Jimmie Dandy — " 

" Bailiff! " cried the judge, motioning to the 

" I '11 be still, judge, your honor," she hastily 
interposed, "only I can't help tellin' your 
honor — " 

The bailiff put his hand on her shoulder, and 
she was silenced for a time. 

" Harry," said the judge, in a kindly tone, 
turning to the boy. 

" I 'm Jimmie Dandy," put in the boy. 

" I understood your name to be Harry Bag- 
ley," remarked the judge, in surprise. 

" 'T ain't right," asserted the boy. " I 'm 
Jimmie Dandy. There ain't nobody in de ward 
dat don't know dat." 

" His nickname," explained the truant officer, 
" but even his mother calls him by it." 

" Oh ! " said the judge. " Well, then, Jimmie, 
I 'm uncertain just what to do with you. 
You 're a bright boy, and I know you could be 
a good one, but I 'm not at all sure that you 
will be. Perhaps the Parental School would be 
a good place for you, and yet — " 

" Look here, jedge, " interrupted Jimmie. 
" Don't send me to no school. If I ain't bad 
enough to lock up, lemme go." 

Jimmie's pride was touched at this suggestion 
of a school instead of imprisonment of some 
kind, even though at the Parental School he 
would be practically a prisoner. The purpose 
of the school was to provide for boys who could 
not be controlled at home, and it could be 
entered only through the Juvenile Court. But 
the aim of the judge was to secure the best re- 
sults with the least possible severity. If he 
could gain the desired end without sending a 
boy to the Parental School or the State Indus- 
trial School or any other institution provided 
for the wayward, why, so much the better. 

" Suppose, Jimmie," he said thoughtfully, " I 
put you in charge of a probation officer." 

" Naw," said Jimmie, indignantly. " I don't 
want none of them fellers botherin' me. I ain't 
a kid. I kin look out fer myself. Why, jedge, 
I 'm boss of de gang." 

" Oh ! " mused the judge. " You 're boss of 
the gang ? " 

" Dat 's wot I am, jedge," asserted Jimmie, 
with a proud shake of the head. " De gang 
knows dey got to do jest what I tells 'em to." 




" Then why don't you make a better gang of " Sure ! " answered Jimmie, promptly, 

it, Jimmie ? " asked the judge. " Will you do it ? " 

" Don't mind him, judge, your honor," put in " Sure ! " answered Jimmie again. " But say, 

the mother, thinking the boy was admitting too jedge, are you makin' me an officer of de 

much. " He don't know what he 's sayin'." court ? " 

"Bailiff!" said the judge, and the bailiff The judge smiled and nodded, 

again approached the woman. " That 's just what I 'm doing, Jimmie," he 

" You 're leadin' him on ! " she cried, " an' said. " I want you to look out for those boys, 

him the only boy I 've got ! Oh, to think of a and I want you to come in here and report to 


lot of big men trym to come it over a little 
boy! I '11 tell him what to say. Jimmie — " 

But the bailiff had her by the arm, and she 
again subsided. 

" Jimmie," said the judge, turning to the boy, 
" if I thought you 'd help me, I 'd send you 
back home." 

" Me help you.' " exclaimed the boy. 

" Yes," said the judge, without even a smile. 
" I 've heard a good deal about the boys in that 
neighborhood, and you can do more with them 
than I can. I don't want them brought in 
here, Jimmie, and they will be if there is n't a 
change pretty soon. Don't you think you can 
manage somehow to keep them away ? " 

me every Friday afternoon. I want to know 
how you 're getting along and how the others 
are getting along." 

" I ain't no spy," protested Jimmie. 

" I don't want you to be one," said the judge. 
" I want to know most of all about yourself and 
how you 're succeeding with the other boys, for 
you 're the leader, Jimmie." 

"Jedge," said the boy, impulsively extending 
his hand, " it 's a go. Put it there ! " 

The judge had to lean pretty far over his 
desk to reach the grimy hand extended to 
him, but he grasped it and the compact was 

Then he added, sternly but kindly : " But, re- 




member, you must be an example as well as a 
commander. If you undertake this responsible 
post, you must n't do yourself what you won't 
let the other boys do." 

The judge, as a matter of fact, was merely 
adopting a very common expedient. Jimmie 
was not the only boy who was reporting reg- 
ularly to the court, but in no other case had 
the matter been put exactly in this light. The 
others were reporting solely to show that they 
were on their good behavior; so was Jimmie, 
but Jimmie did n't know it. Very likely he 

the dignity of a new and important official posi- 
tion. His visit to the Juvenile Court had been 
most gratifying in its results, and had given him 
a new interest in life. Instead of being regarded 
as an offender, he had been put on the same 
plane with the judge, so that he and the judge 
were now engaged in the same work. 

" Don't talk to me about de jedge," said 
Jimmie later that day. " He 's all right. Me 
an' him understands each other." 

Then he told his astounded comrades how 
the judge had asked his assistance. 


would have resented it if he had thought this 
was only one method of attempting his refor- 
mation without sending him to an institution. 
But a sympathetic and resourceful judge, in 
charge of such a court, soon learns how to 
handle those brought before him, and he aban- 
dons all general rules. " What is best for the 
boy ? " is the important question to be answered. 
Jimmie went back to his companions with all 

" Aw, you 're kiddin', Jimmie," insisted one 
of the boys. 

" You '11 find out if I 'm kiddin'," retorted 
Jimmie, " if you go to tippin' over dat Dago's 
stand any more. De jedge an' me is goin' to 
stop dat sort of thing, an' we ain't like men dat 
can't do it." 

The other members of " the gang " were im- 
pressed, but they were somewhat puzzled. They 




could not tell just where it would lead or just 
how serious it would be in its immediate effects. 

" Can't we have no fun any more, Jimmie ? " 
was one of the first questions that was quite 
naturally put to the leader. 

" Sure," said Jimmie; "but some things is 
goin' to be cut out." 

Now the reformation of a crowd of urchins 
is not a task to be lightly undertaken, even by 
their leader, and a stranger in the neighborhood 
would have seen much in their actions with 
which to find fault. But to the residents there 
was a great improvement. Jimmie's ideas as 
to right and wrong were somewhat hazy, and 
the dividing-line was not distinctly drawn. Nor, 
in some minor ways, was he always successful 
in controlling the others, but he did his best, 
and he regularly reported progress to the judge. 
He did this seriously and solemnly, and the 
judge was wise enough to accept the reports 
with due gravity, realizing that he was getting 
a hold on the boy that would be impossible in 
any other way. 

" Jedge," said Jimmie, in making one of his 
weekly reports, " dat gang ain't no cinch to 

" I 'm informed, Jimmie," returned the judge, 
" that there is less trouble there than ever before." 

" Sure," admitted Jimmie ; " but de job you 
give me ain't no cinch, jedge, an' it keeps me 
hustlin'. Y' see, de gang 's so used to smashin' 
things dat it 's hard to break away, an' some- 
times dey slips up. De Dago was up ag'in' it 

" What do you mean, Jimmie ? " 

" They upset his cart an' swiped de banan'." 

" Do you know who did it, Jimmie ? " 

" Sure." 

" Well," said the judge, thoughtfully, " you 
tell him I want to see him. I think perhaps 
if I talk to him a little it may do some good." 

" No use, jedge," returned the boy. " Dat's 
all fixed now. I licked him good an' plenty 
fer it." 

The judge explained that, even as an officer 
of the court, Jimmie was not authorized to in- 
flict punishment on offenders, and Jimmie 
promised not to do it again. 

" But, jedge," he expostulated, " dat 's a 
tough gang to handle any other way." 

" No doubt," admitted the judge ; " but per- 
haps I could do it." 

" You kin try" assented Jimmie, dubiously ; 
and a week later, when he made his report, he 
brought another urchin with him. The latter 
seemed disposed to run if opportunity offered, 
but Jimmie gave him no chance. 

" What 's the matter, Jimmie ? " asked the 

" He says I ain't an officer of de court," ex- 
plained Jimmie, " an' you won't let me lick 
him; so I brought him here. An' he says," 
added the boy, while the judge was consid- 
ering what to say, '• dat no one don't have to 
come to court when I say so — dat I 'm a 

The judge looked thoughtful. This idea 
might be carried too far, but there was no 
doubt that so far a great deal of good had been 
accomplished. On the whole it seemed best to 

" When Jimmie tells you to come to me," 
said the judge, addressing the other urchin, " you 
come, or I '11 send some one after you." 

That settled the question of Jimmie's official 
standing. He was the most important boy in 
the whole district, but he was wise enough not 
to presume too much on his position. Perhaps 
the suggestion of the judge that " We don't 
want to be too hard on them, Jimmie," had 
something to do with this moderation in the 
exercise of his trust. At any rate, it was con- 
ceded by others that he had reached the very 
pinnacle of worldly success, and all desired to 
emulate him. In order that some might shine 
in his reflected glory, Jimmie appointed two or 
three assistants, although of course none but 
himself had the honor of reporting directly to 
the judge. 

But problems beset this minor juvenile court 
that were hard to solve, and occasionally they 
were passed along to the higher authority. 
Thus Jimmie once appeared with a sadly 
troubled face, and, to the inquiry as to how 
everything was getting along, he answered: 
" It 's ail right, jedge. De gang 's behavin' 
fine. But, jedge — " 

" Well ? " 

" 'T ain't wrong to throw mud at a Chiny- 
man, is it ? De gang says dat 's de only fun 



left. Course we don't never bother white folks 
no more ; but Chinymen an' dogs is diff'rent." 

" Well," returned the judge, soberly, " I don't 
believe I 'd bother even Chinamen and dogs. 
They have a right to live in peace, you know." 

" Is dat right, jedge ? " asked Jimmie, in 
plaintive surprise. 

" Certainly. The law gives them that right." 

" Well," said Jimmie, resignedly, but with a 
satisfied judicial air, "if it 'sdelaw, dat settles it." 

It cannot be denied that it required infinite 
patience to handle Jimmie, for his idea of his 
own importance was such that he had no hesi- 
tation in taking up as much of the court's time 
as his fancy might dictate ; but, with one ex- 
ception, he always reported on Fridays, when 
the judge was sitting in the Juvenile Court. 
The exception, however, proved that he felt it 
his right and his duty to seek the judge any- 
where in an emergency. He appeared before 
him one day when he was engaged in hearing 
an important civil suit, and, when a bailiff tried 
to stop him, he explained that he was an officer of 
the court, and then promptly dodged under the 
bailiff's arm. The lawyer who was talking 
stopped, and every one looked at the boy. 

" What is it, Jimmie ? " asked the judge. 

" Dey got a new cop on de beat, jedge," ex- 
plained Jimmie, " an' he 's got it in fer me, 
'cause I was playin' ball in de street when 
somebody busted a winder. I did n't do it, 
jedge, but I sassed him, an' he 's goin'to pinch 
me de first chance he gits, an' den how kin I 
report to you? He 's too fresh, jedge — a 
reg'lar fly cop — an' he 's worryin' de gang bad. 
Dey '11 be worse 'n ever if he don't let 'em alone." 

" What do you want me to do ? " asked the 

• " Why, jedge, I t'ought you 'd give one of 
dose 'junctions to make him let me alone." 

The lawyers laughed, but the judge's frown 
quickly checked them. He took a pen and 
wrote : 

This boy is in my charge. If he does anything wrong, 
report it to me, but do not arrest him. 

This he signed and handed to Jimmie. 

" I think that will fix things," he said. Then, 
turning to the lawyers, still without a trace of a 
smile : " You may proceed, gentlemen." 

After the adjournment of court one of the 
lawyers hunted up the judge in chambers. The 
seriousness with which both parties had enacted 
their parts during the little scene had impressed 

" Who is that boy ? " he asked. 

" One of my most valuable assistants," an- 
swered the judge. " He has pretty nearly re- 
formed a neighborhood." 

Then he told the story. 

When Jimmie made his next regular report, 
the judge kept him until court adjourned, and 
then took him to his private room. 

" Jimmie," he said, " there is a man who 
wants you." 

" Wants me ! " exclaimed Jimmie. 

" Yes ; he wants you in his business." 

" Don't you need me in yours? " demanded 

" Well, he can give you a better chance than 
I can," explained the judge, " so I will try to 
get along without you ; he wants to send you 
away to school." 

Jimmie looked dubious. 

" Dat Parental School ? " he asked. 

" No ; not that kind of a school at all. He 's 
a friend of one of the lawyers you saw here the 
other day, and he 's looking for bright boys, but 
they 're of no use to him unless they know 
something. He wants you in his business, 
Jimmie; but he does n't think you '11 ever be- 
come fitted for it where you are now. If you '11 
go, he '11 send you away to school for a time, 
and give you a chance to become as big a man 
as he is when you get through. And that 's 
saying a good deal. Now I 've told him that 
I know you well, and that you '11 do whatever 
you say you '11 do. Is that right, Jimmie ? " 

" Sure," answered the boy. " I always played 
square with you, did n't I, jedge ? " 

"Yes, indeed," answered the judge, "and 
that 's why I know you will with him. This is 
your chance to become a man. Will you take 
it, Jimmie ? " 

" Jedge," said the boy, after a pause, " I 'd 
like to see de guy dat 's makin' de bluff first." 

" I '11 send you to him," returned the judge,with 
dignity, and he hastily wrote a note of explana- 
tion. " By the way, Jimmie," he added, " how 
did you come out with that new policeman ? " 




" Oh, he 's all right," answered the boy. 
" Dat 'junction did de business, an' we 're good 
friends now. He's been helpin' me." 

The matter was settled when Jimmie returned 
to the judge. He was pleased with his patron, 
and his patron, previously interested through 
the reports he had received, found much of 
promise in the boy. 

" He suits me," Jimmie announced. " He 
ain't none of yer kid-glove kind. He 's busi- 
ness from de ground up, an' when I says, ' It 's 
a go,' we shook hands jest like you an' me did, 
jedge. Oh, he 's all right. He ain't workin' 
no charity dodge. He wants me, an', jedge, I 
want him. We 're goin' to be a great team 
some o' these days." 

" I believe you will be," said the judge, 

" Sure we will," asserted Jimmie; " an' he 's 
goin' to look after me mudder a bit, so she 
won't feel too cut up 'bout me goin' away. An' 
I 'm goin' to report to him reg'lar how I 'm 
doin', so he kin know how near I am to bein' 
ready to help him out. He 's holdin' a job 
fer me right now, an' he '11 hold it till I kin take 
it; but I got to hustle some. We got it all fixed 
right an' proper. But, jedge ! " 

" Well ? " 

" How 'bout de gang? Dey '11 go to de bad 
sure when I quit. What you goin' to do fer 'em ? " 

" I think, Jimmie, that I '11 have to appoint 
another officer of the court," said the judge, re- 

" Who ? " 

" I '11 leave that to you, Jimmie ; but I want 
you to pick out the very worst member of the 

gang. When you have decided who that is, 
tell him to come and see me next Friday after- 
noon. I really must have an officer of the 
court in that district." 

" Sure you must," assented Jimmie, " an' I '11 
send you a corker. So long, jedge. Me 'n' 
you 's been good .friends, an' I guess we 've 
helped each other some." 

" I hope we have, Jimmie." 

The judge remained buried in thought for 
some time after the boy had left. 

"The boy is all right," he said at last, mu- 
singly. " He will make a fine man, I verily 

And does the story end with the familiar 
"all lived happy ever after"? — with Harry 
Bagley, once " Jimmie Dandy," now not only 
a respectable citizen but a lawyer of distinction, 
and with his mother riding in her own carriage, 
and so forth, and so forth ? 

Not a bit of it. 

The boy's mother, although a wiser and a 
happier woman than she was, still frets often 
enough that " poor Jimmie is studyin' too hard 
and killin' himself with books." 

As for the lad himself, it is too soon to tell 
what will be the sequel to the judge's experi- 
ment, for all that is here recorded happened 
only a year ago. Perhaps the full story ol our 
young hero's success or failure may yet be told 
in St. Nicholas. 

For the present, let us hope that Harry Bag- 
ley's school career will fulfil the judge's faith 
in him when he appointed "Jimmie Dandy" 
an officer of the court. 


By Julian King Colford. 


The seventeenth cen- 
tury was just beginning 
when tea was introduced 
into Europe by the 
Dutch. Not until the 
half-century mark had 
been reached did it find 
its way to England; even 
then its use was confined 
to the wealthier classes, 
as the prices ranged from six to ten pounds (thirty 
to fifty dollars) a pound. Pepys, in his great diary, 
records his first "cup of tea" September 25, 
1660. In 1669 the East India Company began 
the importation of tea. Duty was imposed upon 
the tea shipped to America in 1767. I have 
never cared much for the calendar; but these 
dates, as well as this trade, loom up in the his- 
tory of mankind. It was a time when out of 
tea they made most momentous history. The 
young colonies rebelled at the principle of tax- 
ation without representation, and the spirit of 
rebellion put its best foot forward in December, 
1773, when it repelled British tea and taxes by 
hurling into Boston harbor some 340 chests of 
tea, and the war of the Revolution was on. 

The historic house which exported to America 
those celebrated chests of tea was founded in 
1650. While the contest gave America her in- 
dependence and set aside the rule of George 
III, it did not overthrow the business of the 
oldest tea house in Great Britain. The busi- 
ness is carried on to-day in the same old place 
as in Revolutionary times. Its sign — the sign 
of " The Crown and Three Sugar Loaves" — 
has survived the stress of age and storm and fire. 
The Great Fire of London swept within half a 
block of the shop, but the old sign itself reigns 
to-day. Through the generous hospitality of the 
management I was permitted to photograph it. 
" How are the mighty fallen," however, is a 

phrase you will recall if you walk from " The 
Crown and Three Sugar Loaves " across the 
Thames to Newcomen Street, where may be 
seen a wonderful piece of heraldic carving 
set forth as the royal arms of King George 
III. This splendid piece of chiseling was taken 
from the Southwark end of Old London Bridge, 
which was pulled down in consequence of an 
act of Parliament passed for the destruction of 
the buildings on London Bridge and the widen- 
ing of the roadway. These arms are now used 
as the sign of a public house. The sculpture 
bears the initial of George III and the date 1760. 
Many of the old London signs show the cere- 

* H i ' ■iiKiff' i i nr* i mi wpp iq JHHMWr n'T 1 

"the crown and three sugar loaves." 
a sign peculiarly interesting to americans. 

monial head-dress of a bishop of the church. 
One of the most beautiful miter signs in Lon- 





don, also the most ancient, — reputed by the best 
authorities to be the very oldest fourteenth-cen- 
tury relic in the metropolis, — is to be seen set 
into the brick wall of a public house in Mitre 
Court, a narrow alley just off from Hatton Gar- 
dens. It bears the date 1546. It should be 
1346, some miscreant having changed the three 
to a five. The miter is 
carved in bold relief, 
and the work is mar- 
velously well done. 

This public house 
was erected on the 
site where once stood 
the town residence of 
the Bishops of Ely. 
The remains of the 
house, with the ground 
attached to it, were 
conveyed to the crown 
in 1 7 7 2 . The site was 
afterward sold to an 
architect named Cole, 
who leveled every- 
thing to the ground 
save the chapel, dedi- 
cated to Saint Ethel- 
dreda, which still 
stands hard by. The 

rural glories of this spot may be inferred from 
accounts which have come down to us from the 

middle of the sixteenth century. Queen Eliza- 
beth rented a portion of Ely House and gardens 
to her Lord Chancellor, Sir Christopher Hatton. 
The rent was a red rose, ten loads of hay, and 
ten pounds a year. 

From "The Mitre" let us go to "The Moon" 
—or rather " The Half-Moon." On the South- 
wark side of the Thames, in what is called the 
Borough, in company with other narrow and 
winding streets, streets laden with still remain- 
ing houses and hovels forever glorified by 
Dickens, may be seen the sign of The Half- 
Moon Inn. The sign is located about four 
feet from the ground, and has on it the initials 
" I. T. E.," supposed to be those of the land- 
lord who rebuilt the house in 1690, the year 
after the great South wark fire in the preceding 
September. One of the features of London 
life in those days was the Southwark Fair. In 
his celebrated picture of this fair, Hogarth in- 
troduces the sign of "The Half-Moon" — per- 
haps the only old sign in London to-day that re- 
mains in its original position, devoted to the use 
for which it was designed. 

The history of " The Bear " signs of London 
would make quite a contribution to zoological 



lore. There are black, white, brown, and red 
bears ; bear inns and bear quays ; loose bears 

igo 4 .] 




and chained bears. A chained bear, located 
nearly in its original position, is to be seen on 
lower Thames Street. The sign belonged, there 
is little doubt, to " The Bear Quay," the site of 
which is now occupied by the Custom-house. 
This quay a hundred years ago was used for 
the landing and shipment of wheat. 

Interest increases as we stroll along into 
Fleet Street, for we are treading the paths hal- 
lowed by the footsteps of Johnson, Shakspere, 
Lamb, Goldsmith, Dickens, and Tennyson. In 
Fleet Street, near the site of the old Temple 
Bar, once stood the old Cock Tavern, now 
moved across the way. This famous hos- 
telry was established prior to 1635. A redoubt- 
able cock struts with becoming gallantry above 
the tavern door. This bird is said to have 
been carved by no less a hand than that 
of the celebrated Grinling Gibbons. The 
Great Fire of London halted at Temple Bar, 
and " The. Cock," surviving, looked down upon 
the waste of ruins. That the tavern was of 
some importance is proved by its carved fire- 
place, which certainly dates from the time of 
James I. 

Tennyson, in his "Will Waterproof's Lyric," 
immortalizes the Cock Tavern. He sings : 

"Oh plump head waiter at The Cock, 
To which I most resort " ; 

and with many pathetic memories the bard, re- 
calling the sunshiny hours spent at this famous 
hostelry, exhorts the reader in these lines : 

" Go, therefore, thou ! thy betters went 
Long since, and came no more ; 
With peals of genial clamour sent 
From many a tavern-door, 
With twisted quirks and happy hits, 
From misty men of letters; 
The tavern-hours of mighty wits — 
Thine elders and thy betters." 

That king of birds, the eagle, had also his 
many admirers among the carvers of old Lon- 
don signs. There are indeed many eagles, and 
some makers of sign-boards were not content 
until they had placed two heads on the neck 
of one bird. The eagle was used as a sign 
over the shops of booksellers. There was " The 
Black Spread Eagle " in St. Paul's Churchyard 
in 1659. Stow mentions a great storm in 1506 
that blew down the eagle of brass from the spire 
of St. Paul's Church, and, in falling, the same 
eagle broke and battered the Black Eagle that 


hung for a sign in St. Paul's Churchyard. The 
spread eagle here given is carved in stone, and 
has on it the initials " R. M." and the date 




1669. There is much evidence to support the 
belief that this sign was placed, after the Great 
Fire, on the house in Bread Street where John 
Milton, the poet, was 
born on the ninth of 
December, 1608. 

It is not to make 
any unfair comparison 
that I mention " The 
Goose " last among 
the bird signs. There 
existed long before 
the Great Fire, in St. 
Paul's Churchyard, a 
very popular music 
house called "The Mi- 
tre." Here concerts 
were held, and the 
music at these per- 
formances had at least 
the merit of volume 
and joyousness. But 
the Great Fire laid 
the building in ruins 
and banished the mu- 
sic. When the place 
was rebuilt, the new tenant, wishing to ridicule 
the character of the former business, chose as 
his sign a goose stroking the bars of a gridiron 
with her foot, and wrote below, "The Swan and 
Harp." At " The Goose and Gridiron " Sir 



Christopher Wren presided over the St. Paul's 
Lodge of Freemasons for over eighteen years, 

and he presented to the lodge the trowel and 

mallet with which he laid the first stone of the 

cathedral. The goose is still preserved with her 

unmusical " harp " in 


The English are a 
music-loving nation, 
and they love to hear 
music even when go- 
ing about their daily 
occupations, and so it 
is that the spires and 
towers of her mighty 
cathedrals are hung 
full of glorious bells. 
So fond of bell-ringing 
is " Merrie England " 
that Handel once said 
the bell is her national 
instrument. It is not 
strange, therefore, that 
we find this instrument 
frequently adopted as 
a public sign. From 
early in the seven- 
teenth century Bell 
Inns were numerous in London. In Knight- 
rider Street there was an old inn the walls of 
which were prefaced with a giant bell carved 
in bold relief; the keystone had the initials 
" M T A." and the date 1668. This fine spe- 
cimen is now in Guildhall. But a little step 
away, in Carter Lane, there was another Bell 
Inn, which has the proud distinction of being 
the hostelry from which Richard Quyney 
wrote, in 1598, to his "loving good ffrend and 
countreyman, Mr Will m Shakespeare," the only 
letter addressed to the Bard of Avon now 
known to exist. The letter is preserved in 
Stratford, the home of the world's greatest poet. 
Not far away, again, there is a modern Bell 
Tavern, a place where it is said that Dickens 
loved to go when making notes for " David 

One of the most ancient and reputable whole- 
sale druggists in the city, while rebuilding on 
his old site, dug out of the foundations of the 
ancient house an old sign of "The Bell and 
Dragon." It had lain there for more than two 
hundred years, having been used on a prior 




building before the disasters of the Great Fire, 
and had fallen through into the general ruins. 
The peculiarity of the situation is that the firm 
had adopted " The Bell and Dragon " as their 
trade-mark before the discovery of this fire- 
touched relic. This splendid old stone bas-relief 
is jealously preserved, and occupies a promi- 
nent place in the entrance of the Holborn 
branch of the firm. 

In 1467 an English punster was put to death 
for his ill-chosen wit. One Walter Walters, who 


kept " The Crown " in Cheapside, innocently 
said that he would make his son " heir to the 
Crown," which so much displeased King Edward 
IV that he ordered the man put to death for 
high treason. Yet many an inn has proudly 
boasted this heraldic sign. The origin of the 
three crowns — a fine example taken from 
Lambeth Hill, dated 1667, and now in Guild- 
hall — is of interest. The account of it is in 
very curious old spelling. Let me quote a 
part of it from the Harleian Manuscripts, No. 



WS b| 

rv Jfk.jrf 

«jl. -^m 

r ,mf 1 

1 fc'V 1 


1 1 K 





Ik n i 

■ m 

MR -»>-. 

..Jew Ste Mm 




5910, Vol. I, fol. 193, and this at a time when 
Addison was writing the " Spectator " : 

Mersers in thouse dayes war Genirall Marchantes 
and traded in all sortes of Rich Goodes, besides those of 
scelckes [silks] as they do nou at this day ; but they 
brought into England fine Leninn thered [linen thread] 
gurdeles [girdles] finely worked from Collin [Cologne]. 
Collin, the City which then at that time of day florished 
muche and afforded rayre commodetes and these mer- 
chats that vsually traded to that cyte set vp their signes 
ouer ther dores of their Houses the three kinges of Col- 
lin, with the Armes of that cyte, which was the Three 
CROUENS of the former kinges in memorye of them, 
and by those signes the people knew in what wares 
they deld in. 





This passage accounts also for the sign of able relic of the Tudor age." It is built of the 
" The Three Kings," a sign representing the small red bricks peculiar to the period, and the 
three Eastern Magi who came to do homage old gates, as sound as when their solid oaken 

to the Infant Saviour. 
The figures are represent- 
ed standing in similar at- 
titudes ; they have scep- 
ters in their right hands, 
and the left hand is laid 
across the breast. 

There is, too, a beauti- 
ful stone bas-relief of an 
anchor now in Guildhall. 
It bears the date of 1669. 
There is no reliable in- 
formation concerning its 
original position. We 
have this to rely upon, 
that the anchor was never 
set up as an advertise- 
ment of the shipping 
trade, but used as an 
emblem. Some of the 
old printers were fond of 
it. It was carved in stone 
over the gate of St. Clem- 
ent's Inn, and as an em- 
blem of true faith is asso- 
ciated with St. Clement, 
who, according to tradi- 
tion, was cast into the 
Thames with an anchor 
about his neck, by order 
of the Emperor Trajan, 
on account of his firm 
adherence to Christian- 
ity. Fitly, therefore, an 
anchor forms the vane of 
the Church of St. Clement 
Danes, in the Strand; and 
the anchor design also 
appears on various parts 
of the building. 

No lover of old signs 
should fail to see, also, 
the interesting arms of 
the Inns of Court. The 
gate-house of Lincoln's 


timbers were brought by 
Sir Thomas Lovell, K.G., 
from Henley-on-Thames, 
have been regularly closed 
at night ever since the 
year 1564. They were 
open at the hour when I 
got the sun above the 
house-tops to photograph 
the crest — but the oblig- 
ing lodge-keeper partially 
closed them that I might 
get their historic out- 
lines. The Earl of Lin- 
coln gave his name to 
this system of law courts, 
reaching back three and 
a half centuries, with its 
list of illustrious names, 
such as Sir Thomas More, 
Sir Matthew Hale, Lord 
Thurlow, Lord Mans- 
field, and Lord Erskine. 
In these chambers Thur- 
low and Cromwell met. 
The Inns of Court are 
four in number, viz : the 
Inner Temple, the Mid- 
dle Temple, Lincoln's 
Inn, and Gray's Inn. 
They are called Inns of 
Court because when they 
were established they 
were held in the Aula 
Regia, or court of the 
king's palace. 

Passing, then, to the 
Temple, home of the 
Knights Templars, re- 
cruiting-place for the 
Crusades, final resting- 
place of the mighty dead, 
a sanctuary for the 
mighty living, and last 
of all a supreme place of 

Inn, with its fine set of shields, built in the time justice, we reach a spot hallowed by nearly a 
of Elizabeth, has been described as " an admir- thousand years of sacred history. 





The order of Knights Templars, established by Through King Edward II it came into the 

Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, in 11 18, found a hands of the Earl of Lancaster, who in turn let 

home on the banks of the Thames in n 28, it to the students and professors of common 

when the Pope abolished the proud order, law. The colony gradually became organized 

Vol. XXXL— 27. 




into a collegiate body. It was in the Temple On Fleet Street is a fine gate-house to the 
gardens that Shakspere laid one of the scenes Middle Temple, built in 1684 from the designs 
of his " King Henry VI." Near the great of Sir Christopher Wren. It has sculptured 

round church of 
the Temple, finest 
of its kind in all 
England, is the 
grave of Oliver 
Goldsmith, author 
of " The Vicar of 

The old Templar 
arms was a plain 
red cross on a 
shield, with a lamb 
bearing the banner, surmounted by a red cross. 
During the reign of Elizabeth a man by the 
name of Leigh persuaded the authorities of the 
Inner Temple to abandon the old Templar arms 
and adopt " The Flying Horse," and so this sign 
rides over many Temple gateways and doorways. 


on it the Templar 
arms, the Lamb and 
Flag. Behind these 
gateways and an- 
cient heralds may 
be found a mighty 
masonry. Were its 
walls endowed with 
speech, how great 
would be the tale ! 
Here Shakspere 
played " Twelfth 
Night" before Queen Elizabeth. And it was 
here that Johnson, Lamb, Goldsmith, Blackstone, 
Pope, Sir Walter Raleigh, Edmund Burke, Sheri- 
dan, Cowper, and a host of posts, lawmakers, 
and men of letters and genius, held converse 
and quickened the best thought of the world. 


By James C. Beard. 


Although the seal spends its life in and 
under the water, it is an air-breathing animal 
and cannot live for any great length of time 
without air. As winter spreads sheets of ice 
over the fast-freezing arctic sea, the seal breaks 
a hole in the ice over the water where it lives. 
This hole it is very careful to keep open all 
winter long, breaking away each new crust as it 
forms, so that, no matter how thick the ice be- 
comes, the animal always finds there a breathing- 
place and a passage to the surface of the ice 
above, where it can get fresh air and take a 
nap, for it does not sleep in the water. Then 
again, although the seal can exist for a time out 
of the water, it has to seek its food in the sea; 
so that without both land (or ice) and water it 

could not survive the arctic winter. How, after 
once leaving its breathing-hole in search of the 
fish upon which it feeds, the seal can find its 
way in the dark under the ice, a yard in thick- 
ness, and spreading over many miles, back again 
to its hole, no one knows ; but it is not the 
less certain that when it needs air it swims as 
straight to its breathing-place as a bird would 
fly through the air to its nest. 

When the seal is about to build her house, she 
first makes the breathing-hole larger, and then, 
by means of her strong claws and flipper* or 
fore paws, scoops out the snow, taking it down 
with her through the ice until she has made a 
dome-like apartment of the same shape, though 
not the same size, as that built by the Eskimo. 
Unlike the huts built by man, however, it can- 
not be seen from without, for above it stretches 



2 I I 

the long slope of untrodden snow, and the baby 
seal for whose comfort the house was built, and 
its mother, are safe from any foes that cannot 
find where the house is by the sense of smell. 

The house, however, is sometimes discovered 
by the great polar bear, who, when his nose has 
told him that he is upon the top of the seal 
house, leaps in the air and, bringing his feet 
together, comes down with all his great weight, 
breaking through the roof and catching the baby 
seal before it can get away. Hooking one of his 
sharp claws into its little flipper, the bear then 
does a very cruel thing. He lets the cub 
down the breathing-hole so as to lead the 
anxious mother to come to it as it struggles 
in the water. When she does so, he slowly 
draws it up again, and, as she follows it, strikes 
and secures her with the 
claws of his other foot. 

Very few of these seal 
houses are found out, how- 
ever, either by men or 
beasts of prey ; and they 
last until the feeble arctic 
summer partly melts the 
snowthat covered and con- 
cealed them. Of course 
by this time the baby seal 
has grown large and 
strong enough to take care 
of itself, and lives a great 
way from its place of birth. 


When this is done, she settles down and re- 
mains quiet. Outside, the drifts are heaped up 
higher and higher and she is buried deeper and 

Not only are baby seals 
and baby Eskimo born in 

snow houses, but also baby bears. Toward 
the end of the year the old mother white bear 
looks about over the ice-fields and snow-covered 
country to find a home for her little ones. Un- 
like the seal, she does not need to seek food, 
for, strange as it may appear, after retiring for 
the winter, three months will pass before she 
again requires food. Previous to building her 
house, she has eaten enormously and become 
very sleek and fat, and does not need any- 
thing more in the way of food for a long time. 
Having found a windy corner among the rocks 
where the storm is drifting the soft new snow, 
she digs her way into it until it covers her. 


deeper under the snow. 
Here she remains the 
long winter through, 
and here the little bears 
are born and live with 
their mother until sum- 
mer comes to unlock 
their door of frozen 
snow, and to send them 
with their half-famished 
parent to look for food. 
As the old bear lies in 
the snow, her warm 
breath and the vapor from her body slowly 
melt quite a hollow place about her; a cave 
or home in the drift is thus formed, with per- 
haps only a very small opening to the air above. 
Sometimes, however, the dogs of the Eskimo 
find this hole in the snow, and their loud yelp- 
ing gives their masters warning that a bear 
or a seal is beneath the frozen crust. The 
Eskimo break away the snow, reach down, and 
spear the sleeping mother and carry off her and 
her cubs on their sledges to their huts, where 
the flesh will be eaten, the hide made into gar- 
ments, and the bones into knives, needles, 
runners for sledges, and other useful things. 


(A True Story of an Adventure in the Mountains of Colorado.') 

By J. H. Rockwell. 

I was seated 
in my office on 
the fifth floor 
of one of the 
large business 
blocks in Chi- 
cago, late in 
June, a few 
years ago. The 
heat was intolerable, 
and I found myself thinking of 
* the green fields of the open country, and 
the cool, refreshing shade of a certain grove of 
redwoods I had found some three years before 
while visiting my friend Richard Armstrong on 
his ranch in northwestern Colorado. 

It has often happened that whenever I have 
been thinking intently of any one I am sure in 
some way to hear from him; and so I was not 
greatly surprised, when the postman tossed half 
a dozen letters on my desk, to find among them 
one from my old friend Armstrong. He had 
been in the West for some fifteen years, and 
I had twice visited him on his ranch. He 
had married just before leaving for the West, 
and now had two children, one a girl of twelve, 
the other a boy of five. It was an ideal family, 
and their home, as I recalled it, one of the 
most delightful spots in the whole Wonsitz Val- 
ley. Memories of my friend and his home 
came to my mind as I picked up the letter and 
opened it. It was a cordial invitation to join 
Armstrong in a trip to the mountains, where he 
and his family were to spend the remainder of 
the summer in hunting and fishing. 

Nothing could have suited me better. My 
business affairs would easily take care of them- 
selves for a month or two, and the heat of the 
city was daily becoming more and more op- 
pressive. There was no reason why I should 
not go. So I wrote at once that I would come, 
and three days later I left to follow my letter 

into the region of the Little Snake River and 
the sylvan retreats of the Elk Head Mountain. 

The trip out, although uneventful, was a most 
delightful one, and I reached Windsor late in the 
evening of the fourth day, feeling absolutely 
fresher than when I left Chicago. Dick was at 
the hotel waiting for me, and as I climbed 
down from the driver's seat of the stage that 
had brought me from Glenwood, Dick's wel- 
come came like a breeze from the hills. 

The drive to the ranch was a trifle more than 
twelve miles over a road as hard and smooth 
as asphalt, although the land on either side was 
thoroughly irrigated and rank with the growing 
alfalfa, and we made the distance in less than 
an hour and a half. Mrs. Armstrong and the 
children were still up, waiting for us, and it was 
long past midnight before we finally separated 
for bed. 

Early the next day preparations were begun 
for our stay in the mountains. A log cabin had 
been built for our accommodation, and we were 
to take up its furnishings besides fishing-tackle 
and guns and such other outing equipment as 
might be needed. These we loaded into a 
large farm-wagon, while the provisions and 
necessary clothing for the expedition were 
packed in the camp-cart and assigned to "Billy," 
the big mule, for transportation. 

Poor old Billy ! We little suspected at the 
time how much we should owe to him before 
we were back at the ranch again ! 

The first day's drive took us some thirty 
miles to the Baker ranch, almost at the foot of 
the mountains, where we stopped for the night, 
completing our trip the next day. 

For a distance of four or five miles the road 
wound up the mountain-side, and, although 
steep and somewhat narrow, was comparatively 
smooth. We followed this road to its end, 
which was in a sort of plateau, miles in extent, 
and heavily timbered. Beyond this point the 



road was entirely of our own making ; but as 
there was little or no underbrush and the ascent 
gradual, we were not long in reaching our 
camping-place, and a better could not have 
been found anywhere in the whole range. The 
cabin which Dick had built was a most pic- 
turesque affair indeed, standing at the edge of 
a small clearing, deep in grass that sloped 
down gently to a good-sized mountain stream 
that came sliding and gurgling from miles 
above us, cool and sweet and clear as crystal. 

It did n't take long to get things in shape for 
living, so that within a day or two we had 
pretty well settled down to a thorough enjoy- 
ment of the summer's outing. 

There was not much hunting. We were 
rather far up for that, although we occasionally 
saw a big wolf skulking in the undergrowth ; 
but the fishing was superb, and we made long 
excursions up the mountain, and along the 
stream that ran by the camp. 

The end of September finally came, and the 
nights were getting to be somewhat chilly and 
we began to talk of breaking camp ; but day 
after day and week after week went by, and still 
no preparations were made for leaving. 

One day as we were returning from a long 
tramp up the mountain, Dick called my atten- 
tion to a widely extended reach of hemlock 
forest lying for twenty miles along the sloping 
ground below us. 

" It is certainly very fine," I said. 

" Yes, and, what 's more to the point, it is 
very valuable, and I have bought every acre 
of it." 

" Bought it ! " I exclaimed. " And what in 
the name of reason will you do with it ? " 

" Do with it ? Within the next twelve 
months I '11 have right there one of the biggest 
shingle-mills planted anywhere west of the Mis- 
sissippi River. 

Work on the mill had little more than begun 
when the snow began to fall in earnest. It was 
now late in October. 

In the meantime I had busied myself in cut- 
ting some runners out of a plank I had found at 
the mill, and had made a sleigh, rough and un- 
sightly, to be sure, but strong and large enough 
to hold Mrs. Armstrong and myself and the two 
children ; for, as snow had already begun to fall, 

a sleigh would be more easily managed, I 
knew, than a cart, especially if the storm in- 
creased and the roads drifted, which seemed 
probable. Altogether it was high time that we 
returned to civilization. 

Sure enough, the storm continued to increase 
in fury, and for three days the snow came sift- 
ing down through the pine boughs, fine as 
flour, and the wind blew almost a hurricane. 

Meanwhile it had grown intensely cold ; we 
did not mind that much, however, as there was 
plenty of fuel and the house had been snugly 
built; but there was danger of being blockaded, 
perhaps for months, and we were anxious to 
get down while we could. Still it was days be- 
fore the air cleared of the snow that came on 
the wind like small dust, and we found it pos- 
sible to start. 

Dick went on ahead early in the morning to 
blaze out a way for us through the woods to 
the open road, and was to go on at once to the 
Baker place, waiting there until we came up. 
When I brought old Billy around to hitch him 
to the sleigh, he regarded the newfangled 
vehicle with violent disfavor ; he had been used 
to the heavy shafts of the camp-cart, that came 
straight along his sides, while these came slant- 
ing up from somewhere about his heels, being 
fastened by pieces of stout leather to the top of 
the low runners, and he did not like it. But he 
was easily quieted, and I soon had the children 
and their mother comfortably stowed away in 
the sleigh among the bed-quilts and rugs we 
had brought up from the ranch. There was no 
room for any of our belongings except the two 
rifles Dick and I had used, and some clothing. 

For the first few miles we made exceedingly 
slow progress — indeed, we were hardly able 
to get on at all, the snow was so deep; but 
when we reached the graded road, where the 
wind had had a fairer sweep and there was 
less snow, old Billy took us along at a good 
pace, though not fast enough to make up much 
of the time we had lost while coming down 
from the cabin through the heavy drifts. 

It was already growing dark when we had 
made but little more than half the distance 
down the mountain; still, if the sky cleared, as 
it promised to do, we should soon have the full 
moon directly in front of us, and within half an 




hour we should be out of the woods into a sort 
of scrub growth — the pines, however, still 
grew above us some little distance back, but 
closely following the turns and angles of the 
road. At this point the descent became much 
sharper and the road much more crooked, until 
it reached the level of the valley at Baker's. 
We had fairly emerged into this more open 
country, and were within three miles, perhaps, 
of the steepest, crookedest grade on the road. 
The sky had only partly cleared, and the light 
was very uncertain. I had just turned to speak 
to Mrs. Armstrong and see how the children 
were doing, when old Billy, who had been act- 
ing queerly for some time, suddenly gave a 
lunge toward the outer side of the road that 
came very nearly throwing me to the ground 
and sending the sleigh straight down the side 
of the mountain. Involuntarily I tightened 
my grip on the lines, and barely saved myself 
from going out. At the same moment there 
came from somewhere out of the pines, far up 
the mountain, a single long-drawn howl, fol- 
lowed a moment later by another and then 
another, until from every side came the high, 
quavering notes of the big mountain wolves. 

For a moment I was utterly stupefied. The 
possibility of such a danger as this had never, 
in the faintest way, occurred to me, and the 
suddenness and horror of the situation were 
simply appalling. The frantic plunging of the 
now thoroughly stampeded mule soon brought 
me to myself, and to a sense of the danger of 
our being capsized and thrown to the wolves 
without so much as the shadow of a chance 
for our lives. By exerting all my strength on 
the lines, and speaking soothingly to the half- 
crazed animal, I succeeded in quieting him in 
a measure. I directed Mrs. Armstrong — who 
was behaving most courageously — to get out 
the two rifles from the bottom of the sleigh; 
for I was determined to fight to the very last 
to bring us, in some way, safely through our 
terrible danger. 

In the meantime the wolves, in twos and 
threes, could be seen coming out of the woods 
and out of the scrub — noiselessly now, but with 
an eagerness and swiftness in their pursuit that 
showed only too plainly our utter helplessness 
against them. Poor old Billy was already 

showing the effects of the hard day he had 
come through, and I knew it would be impos- 
sible to continue the unequal race more than a 
few minutes longer, and then the only thing 
between us and an awful death — a death re- 
volting and terrible beyond thought — was the 
two rifles with their fourteen cartridges : a piti- 
able defense against more than thirty half- 
famished mountain wolves, that were now so 
near we could hear the patter and rustle of 
their feet along the hard snow, and see their 
long red tongues hanging from their snapping 

I took up one of the guns, passed the lines 
to Mrs. Armstrong, and, turning just as one of 
the great brutes made a spring for the sleigh, 
shot it squarely through the head. Instantly the 
whole pack was a whirling, snarling, fighting 
mass about the carcass. But our respite was 
of short duration, for in less time than it takes 
to tell it the wolves were in full chase again. 

As I glanced ahead and saw that the steep 
grade — the last sharp descent into the valley 
just below — was right before us, there flashed 
through my mind one desperate possibility of 
escape, and I acted on it without a moment's 
hesitation. Raising my gun, I sent shot after 
shot into the howling, surging pack, so near 
now that the flash of the powder almost singed 
their hair; and waiting only long enough to see 
that the shots had taken effect, and that the 
wolves had dropped back a little, I took out 
my pocket-knife and, stooping over the front 
of the sleigh, cut the leather straps that held 
the shafts in place, and snatching the lines, 
pulled the mule sharply to one side. 

For a single moment the sleigh hung on the 
verge of the grade as it swerved a little from 
the pull I had given the lines, and then we 
went shooting down the steep incline like the 
wind, saved from those savage beasts by a nar- 
row margin. 

When we last saw Billy he was bravely fight- 
ing his way through a very ferocious circle of 

As for ourselves that was a fearful ride; we 
even succeeded in rounding a particularly sharp 
curve with one runner of the sleigh hanging 
over an abyss of more than a hundred feet. 
But we got down without the slightest injury, 

1904. | 


2 '5 

and found Dick, with half the people of the little We stopped just long enough to relate our 

town at Baker's, waiting for us in the street, adventure to the people who had witnessed our 

from where the)' had been anxiously watching strange descent, and then, waking the children, 

for some time, and wondering why we were — for they had slept through it all, — Dick 



coming down in such a fashion, none of them 
having suspected for a moment the real cause, 
although the fact that the mountains were 
full of wolves was well known to all of them. 
Dick had become uneasy at our delay and had 
come over from the ranch to look for us ; and ' 
as the moon was shining and the ground 
covered with snow, we could be seen distinctly 
for a long distance as we came down the side 
of the mountain above the village. 

hurried us away to the ranch, where supper 
was waiting for us, and where we might have 
a chance to recover a little our badly shattered 

The next day found us still at Dick's place, 
none the worse from our frightful adventure of 
the day before ; and the day following I left for 
home, bronzed and greatly benefited by my 
long vacation, and not forgetful of my deep in- 
debtedness to old Billy, the mule. 

What if he strayed to far Japan, — 
The dear old saint, — and there began 
For all their girls and boys to plan, 

Without a pause ? 

For, drive his reindeer low or high, 
No open chimney could he spy, 
No empty stockings hanging nigh ! 
He would grow homesick by and by, 

With ample cause. 

For should they catch that puzzled man, 
They 'd surely paint him on a fan 
And label it " O Santa San " — 

Our Santa Claus ! 

Once upon a time, in a dainty little kingdom 
all parks and rivers and cottages and flowers, 
there lived a jolly, red-faced king named Ru- 
dolpho. Every one of his subjects loved him, 
the surrounding kings were his loyal friends, and 
the neighboring kingdoms were on the best of 
terms with him. Indeed, they had a happy 
way, these old kings, of exchanging thrones for 
a week now and then, just as some preachers 
nowadays exchange pulpits — to prove, I sup- 
pose, how very good their own is, after all. 
This king about whom I am telling you was 
fat, of course, and looked very like our good 
friend Santa Claus. 

Yet, strange as it may seem, with all these 
blessings, — a rich kingdom, faithful subjects, 
and a loving wife, — this good king was not 
happy. There was one cloud, a very pretty 
silver-edged cloud, but yet a cloud, which hung 
just in front of the sun of his happiness and 
cast a great big shadow. 

The king had a daughter, the Princess 
Madge, his only child; and though she was 
obedient in everything else, she just would n't, 
would li't, marry. Now the king was very 
anxious for her to marry and settle down on 
the throne, because he was growing old. Every 
morning for three weeks, just before breakfast, 
he had had three separate twinges of pain. 
The queen said it was because of his rheumatism, 
but he knew better; he was sure that it was 
old age, and it made him very eager to have 
Vol. XXXI.— 28. 

the kingdom in the hands of the new son-in-law 
king before he died. 

Of course there were plenty of princes and 
dukes and barons and lords who would gladly 
have wedded the pretty princess for her own 
sweet sake alone, to say nothing of the prospect 
of being king some day, but she would n't have 
one of them. There was not a man in the 
kingdom nor in any of the surrounding king- 
doms who suited her capricious fancy. Princes 
of haughty mien, princes of gentle manner, 
handsome princes, ugly princes, tall princes, 
short princes, fat princes, lean princes, had been 
introduced at the court, had been encouraged 
by the king and queen, and had sought to gain 
her favor. She had been showered with gifts 
of rare flowers and precious stones, and had re- 
ceived thousands of little letters smelling of 
perfume; but from prince, from jewels, and 
from written vows of love she turned away 
with the same cheerful determination. 

A princess is a lonely little body, you know, 
and custom was so rigid in the time of the 
Princess Madge that she had no one to talk to 
excepting Pussy Willow, the royal kitten. She 
had no brother, no sister, no cousin, and no 
dearest friend. She did n't even have a chance 
to speak freely to her own father and mother. 
It is true, she took breakfast with them every 
morning at eleven in the great breakfast-room, 
but the butlers and waiters and pages and 
flunkies were always standing about, with their 




ears pricked up and their eyes bulging out, so 
that no one dared whisper a secret or have 
even the jolliest little family quarrel. It is true 
her royal mama came at precisely ten o'clock 
to kiss her good night every evening, but there 

about him ! " Whereupon Pussy shook her 
head till her gold-bell necklace tinkled loudly, 
then she yawned a little and began to wash 
her face. She looked very wise as she sat 
there stroking her whiskers and thumping 

I 5 

ame^ctr-pReciselr^ceH ddodCuo kisyfieRj^2o°t>wrgh'C ^—^y^ 

thoughtfully on the floor with her bunchy tail. 
After thinking thus seriously for a few minutes, 
she suddenly began a sympathetic little purr- 
song which seemed to say : 

" Go on, little mistress ; I am all ready to 
listen, and I '11 not tell a soul." Then Princess 
Madge continued : 

" I don't care whether he is prince or pauper, 
high or low, handsome or plain; but he must 
in any case be contented. You know what con- 
tented means, Pussy — satisfied with what he 
has until he deserves and can get something 
better. If he is like that he will always be un- 
selfish and happy. Oh, yes, and I shall be 
happy, too. Now I am going to write a letter 
to papa and tell him that I will marry if he 
will find me a contented man." 

Quick as thought, the princess opened her 
rosewood and gold desk, drew out some paper 
with her crest on it and a jeweled pen, and wrote 
daintily and carefully. It took her a very long 
time, Pussy Willow thought. 

" Now, kitty, listen ; I will read it to you : 

were always a dozen maids and ladies-in-wait- 
ing, and it was impossible to have a real good 
talk. But Pussy Willow was her constant com- 
panion, and to Pussy she told everything. 
That friendly cat was the only living thing in 
the whole kingdom that really knew that the 
princess intended to marry sometime. That 
was what worried the king and queen so 
much; Madge made them believe that she 
would never marry any one, never, never, 
never, but would live alone to the end of her 
days and leave the kingdom to any one who 
wished for it. 

" Pussy, I would n't tell a story to the king and 
queen for the world, but is n't it fun to see 
them take on so ? If I really thought that 
papa was ill and likely to die, I would be as 
good as gold; but those little pains of his 
are only rheumatism, I am sure, so I don't 
mind teasing him just a little. You know, 
Pussy, that when my ideal comes — oh, you 
need n't look up and blink in such surprise, for 
I really have an ideal, and I will tell you all 




"To his Majesty the King, from her Royal Highness, 
the Princess Madge. 

" Dear Old Papa : I have at last decided to be mar- 
ried if you can find a man to suit me. Now read, my 
dear papa, and remember that this decision is final. I 
will marry the first contented man you can find, no mat- 
ter who he is. Read this little poem; it is my guiding 
star at this very serious time : 

" ' There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, 
No chemic art can counterfeit. 
It makes men rich in greatest poverty, 
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold. 
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, 
That much in little, all in naught — content.' 

'■ What I have written, I have written. 
" Vour own 


" That sounds very well, does n't it, Pussy ? 
I am going to fold it so, and so, then cut off 
a strand of my hair — see, Pussy, it is nearly a 
yard long, and it will go around and around 
this letter and tie in a great golden knot. When 
the king sees that he will know it is very im- 
portant. Now I will go to the door and tell 
the page to run with this to papa, and then — 
oh, I wonder what he will say ! " 

She ran to the door, spoke a few words to 
the page who stood just outside, then returned 
to the great cushioned chair by the window. 
Pussy climbed into her lap. They both winked 
a few times and blinked a few times and then 
fell fast asleep. 


Half an hour later the king, with his crown 
comfortably pushed back on his head, and a 
smile very much all over his ruddy face, burst 
into the queen's sitting-room. He held a tan- 
gle of golden hair in one hand and a sheet of 
blue note-paper in the other. 

" My dear, my dear, what do you think has 
happened ? Here, written by her own hand, the 
hand of the Princess Madge, are the happy 
words which drive away all our fears. She 
will marry, my dear, she will marry ; and listen : 
she cares not what may be his rank or age or 
condition — he must be a conte?ited man, that 
is all. Oh, what a child, what a child ! " 

" Oh, Rudolpho, my love, is it true ? Why, 
why, I am so happy ! Is it really true ? Do 
give me my fan. Yes, thank you. Fan me, 
dear; a little faster. It quite took my breath 

away. Just to think of that! Now go at 
once and issue a royal edict summoning every 
contented man in this kingdom and in all the 
surrounding kingdoms to a grand feast here in 
the palace. After the feast we will hold a trial, 
and the Princess Madge shall be the judge." 

Away rushed the king, the pages-in-waiting 
outside the door vainly trying to catch the end 
of his fluttering robe. 

The next day a cavalcade of heralds set out 
from the palace gates, bearing posters which 
were hung in the market-place of every village 
for leagues about. In blue letters on a gold 
ground were these words : 

Ho, ye ! Hear, ye ! Ho, ye ! 
On the twenty-third day of the month now present, 
every contented man throughout the universe is sum- 
moned to the court of King Rudolpho for a feast and a 
trial for the hand of the Princess Madge. He among 
you all who is absolutely contented shall have the prin- 
cess's hand in marriage, together with half the kingdom. 
Everyman will be tried by the princess herself. Every 
man who falls short and stands not the test shall never 
again enter King Rudolpho's court. 

My hand -j- My seal +. 
Rudolpho, Rex. 

The day dawned, brilliant and glorious. How 
the contented men jostled each other, and 
frowned at each' other, and scolded each other 
as they thronged through the palace gates! 
They all gathered in the banquet-hall, where a 
wonderful feast was spread — a roasted ox, with 
wild boar and lamb and turkey and peacock, 
and a hundred kinds of fruit, and fifty kinds of 
ice-water; but as a dinner-party it was not a 
success. Conversation was dull, each man 
glowered at his neighbor, and all seemed eager 
to finish the feast and begin the trial. 

Finally it was over, and five hundred and 
fifty contented men assembled in the royal 
court-room. The king and queen were seated 
on their thrones, but the princess was nowhere 
to be seen. There was a moment of breathless 
waiting — then suddenly a door at the side of 
the court-room opened and the Princess Madge, 
carrying Pussy Willow, entered and was fol- 
lowed by her train-bearers and maids of honor. 
She wore a wonderful gown all white and gold 
down the front, with the foamiest of sea-foam 
green trains hanging from her shoulders away 
out behind her. Slowly, majestically, she 



walked across the room, and stopped before a 
table on which lay a golden gavel. A quick 
tap of the gavel silenced the little murmur that 
had arisen at her entrance. The king glanced 
at the queen, and they both smiled with pride in 
their stately daughter. The princess tapped 
again and began : 

" Princes, baronets, honorables, commons of 
this kingdom and our neighboring kingdoms, I 
bid you welcome. You have come to sue for 
my hand and my fortune. I know full well, my 
noble men, that if I asked it you would gladly 
give me some great proof of your bravery and 
goodness — but I ask you to take no risk and 
make no sacrifice. I merely wish to know 
whether I can find in any of you that secret of 
all true courage and happiness — contentment. 
Now let every man of you who is contented, 
thoroughly contented, rise. Remember, there 
are no degrees in contentment : it is absolute." 

The black-robed throng arose — some eagerly, 
some impatiently, some disdainfully, some few 
slowly and thoughtfully, but they all stood 
and waited in utter silence. 

" As I put the test question, if there is any 
one who cannot answer it, let him go quietly out 
through yonder door and never again show his 
discontented face in this court. You say you 
are contented — happy, unselfish, and satisfied 
with what the gods have given you. Answer 
me this ! Why, then, do you scowl and jostle 
one another ? Why do you want to marry 
any one — least of all, a princess with half the 
riches of a great kingdom as a dowry, to spoil 
your happiness? Greedy fortune-hunters! Do 
you call that contentment ? " 

The contented men stood a moment in baffled 
silence, then turned, one and all, and slowly 
marched out of the room. As the door closed 
upon the last one of the disappointed suitors, 
the princess picked up her pretty kitten and, 
turning to her father and mother, said : 

" Would you have me marry one of those ? 
Why, they are n't half so contented as a com- 
mon, every-day pussy-cat. Good-by ! " And 
she laughed a merry laugh, threw a kiss at the 
astonished king and queen, and ran from the 

The king looked at the queen in melancholy 
disappointment ; the queen started from her 

throne to call back her wilful child; but the 
door at the left was flung open with a bang, 
and the crier announced the prime minister 
and the members of the royal bench. The 
work of the day was at hand. 


At luncheon one day many months after the 
dismissal of the discontented suitors, the prime 
minister entered the dining-room and an- 
nounced to the king that a man had been 
found within the palace gates without a royal 
permit, and had been immediately put in the 
dungeon. He was a handsome fellow, the prime 
minister said, but very poorly clad. He made 
no resistance when he was taken prisoner, but 
earnestly requested that his trial might come off 
as soon as possible, as he rather wanted to make 
a sketch of the palace and gardens, and he 
could n't see very well from the slit in the top 
of the dungeon; but he begged them not to 
put themselves nor the king to any inconve- 
nience, as he could just as well remain where 
he was and write poems. 

" In sooth, your Majesty," said the prime 
minister, in conclusion, " from all we have heard 
and seen, it seemeth that at last we have found 
a contented man." 

As soon as the king finished his royal repast 
he disguised himself in the long cloak and hat 
of a soldier and went with the prime minister 
and the turnkey to catch a glimpse of the pris- 
oner. As they approached the dungeon they 
heard a rich bass voice singing : 

" Let the world slide, let the world go ! 
A fig for care, and a fig for woe. 
If I must stay, why, I can't go, 
And love makes equal the high and low." 

The king drew nearer, stooped, and peeped 
through the keyhole. Just opposite the door, 
on a three-legged stool, sat the prisoner. His 
head was thrown back and he was looking 
at the sky through the bars in the top of 
his cell. The song had ceased and he was 
talking softly to himself. The king, in a- 
whisper, told the prime minister to bring the 
princess and have her remain hidden just out- 
side the door. Then he motioned to the turn- 




key to throw back the bolts, and he entered the " Ha, ha ! " laughed the king. " Pretty good, 

dungeon alone. pret-ty good ! They tell me that all things 

" Why are you talking to yourself, man?" he please you. Is it true ? " 

asked. The man answered : " I think I can safely say yes, soldier." 

"Because, soldier, I like to talk to a sensi- "But why are you so poorly clad?'' 

ble man, and I like to hear a sensible man talk." " The care of fine clothes is too much of a 




burden — I have long ago refused to be fashion's 
slave. By the way, that cloak of yours is n't 
especially elaborate, soldier." The king ignored 
the remark. 

" But where are your friends ? " 

" Of those that I have had, the good are dead, 
and happier so than here; the evil ones have 
left me and are befriending some one else, for 
which I say, ' Joy go with them.'" 

" And is there nothing that you want ? " 
As the king asked this question he looked at 
the man in a peculiarly eager way, nor did the 
answer disappoint him. 

" I have all of the necessities of life and 
many of the luxuries. I am perfectly content. 
I know I have neither land nor money, but is 
not the whole world mine ? Can even the king 
himself take from me my delight in the green 
trees and the greener fields, in that dainty 
little cloud flecking heaven's blue up yonder 
like a bit of foam on a sunlit sea ? Oh, no ! I 
am rich enough, for all nature is mine — " 

" And /am yours," said a sweet young voice. 
The man looked up in surprise, and there be- 
fore him, holding out her pretty hands toward 
him, stood the Princess Madge, who had slipped 
into the cell unnoticed by either the prisoner or 
her father. She seemed more beautiful than 
the green trees and the fields and the sky and 
the clouds all put together. 

The man sprang to his feet, clasped the little 
hands in his, and said : 

" I know not what you mean, sweet lady, 
when you say that you are mine ; but oh, you 
are passing beautiful ! " 

" Papa," called the princess, " this is quite 
dreadful. Quick, take off that ugly soldier's 
coat and tell him who we are and all about it ! " 

The king, starting as if from a dream, threw 
off the rough coat and hat and stepped forth 
into the beam of sunlight, resplendent in gold 
and ermine. 

" Thou dost not know me, my man ? I am 
the king. Hast thou not read our last proc- 
lamation ? " 

" No, your Majesty ; I never do read proc- 

" Then thou didst not know that the hand of 
the princess is offered to the first contented man 
who enters the palace ? " 

" No, your- Majesty; I knew it not." 

"Then know it now, and know, too, that 
thou art the man. To thee, my son, I give my 
daughter in marriage, together with one half 
my kingdom. No, no — not a word. She is 
thine. Thou deservest her. May you be 
happy ! " 

The prisoner, almost dumb with astonish- 
ment, almost dazed with joy, knelt and kissed 
the princess's white hands, then looked into her 
eyes and said : 

" Ah, well it is for me that I saw you not 
until now, for I should have been miserably 
discontented until you were mine ! " 


By Henry Johnstone. 

You may keep your feet from slipping 

And your hands from evil deeds, 
But to guard your tongue from tripping, 
What unceasing care it needs ! 
Be you old or be you young, 
Oh, beware, 
Take good care 
Of the tittle-tattle, telltale tongue ! 

You may feel inclined to quarrel 

With the doctrine that I preach, 
But the soundness of the moral 
Sad experience will teach : 
Be it said or be it sung 
Oh, beware 
Of the tittle-tattle, telltale tongue ! 


By Helen Lockwood Coffin. 

It is a hard matter to tell just how much the Mississippi, and so save himself the trouble 
power a little thing has, because little things of walking over the land and cutting out his own 

have the habit of growing. That was the trou- 
ble that France and England and Spain and all 
the other big nations had with America at first. 
The thirteen colonies occupied so small and 
unimportant a strip of land that few people 
thought they would ever amount to much. 
How could such insignificance ever bother old 
England, for instance, big and powerful as she 

roads as he went. So when France said, " No, 
dear," and told him to " be a good little boy 
and not tease," the United States citizen very 
naturally rebelled. 

Mr. Jefferson was President of the United 
States at that time, and he was a man who 
hated war of any description. He certainly 
did not wish to fight with his own countrymen, 

was ? To England's great loss she soon learned and he as certainly did not wish to fight with any 

her error in underestimating the importance or 
strength of her colonies. 

France watched the giant and the pygmy 
fighting together, and learned several lessons 
while she was watching. For one thing, she 
found out that the little American colonies were 
going to grow, and so she said to herself: " I will 
be a sort of back-stop to them. These Amer- 
icans are going to be foolish over this bit of 
success, and think that just because they have 
won the Revolution they can do anything they 
wish to do. They '11 think they can spread out 
all over this country and grow to be as big as 
England herself; and of course anybody can 
see that that is impossible. I '11 just put up a 
net along the Mississippi River, and prevent 
them crossing over it. That will be the only 
way to keep them within bounds." 

And so France held the Mississippi, and from 
there back to the Rocky Mountains, and when- 
ever the United States citizen desired to go west 
of the Mississippi, France said : " No, dear 
child. Stay within your own yard and play, 
like a good little boy," or something to that 

Now the United States citizen did n't like 
this at all ; he had pushed his way with much 
trouble and expense and hard work through 
bands of Indians and through forests and over 
rivers and mountains, into Wisconsin and Illinois, 
and he wished to go farther. And, besides, he 
wanted to have the right to sail up and down 

Vol. XXXI.— 29-30. 2 

other nation, so he searched around for some 
sort of a compromise. He thought that if 
America could own even one port on this useful 
river and had the right of Mississippi naviga- 
tion, the matter would be settled with satisfac- 
tion to all parties. So he sent James Monroe 
over to Paris to join our minister, Mr. Livingston, 
and see if the two of them together could not 
persuade France to sell them the island of New 
Orleans, on which was the city of the same 

Now Napoleon was the ruler of France, and 
he was dreaming dreams and seeing visions in 
which France was the most important power in 
America, because she owned this wonderful 
Mississippi River and all this " Louisiana " 
which stretched back from the river to the 
Rockies. He already held forts along the river, 
and he was planning to strengthen these and 
build some new ones. But you know what 
happens to the plans of mice and men some- 
times. Napoleon was depending upon his army 
to help him out on these plans, but his armies 
in San Domingo were swept away by war and 
sickness, so that on the day he had set for them 
to move up into Louisiana not a man was able 
to go. At the same time Napoleon had on 
hand another scheme against England, which 
was even more important than his plans for 
America, and which demanded men and money. 
Besides this, he was shrewd enough to know 
that he could not hold this far-away territory 




for any long time against England, which had so 
many more ships than France. He suddenly 
changed his mind about his American posses- 
sions, and nearly sent Mr. Monroe and Mr. 
Livingston into a state of collapse by offering 
to sell them not only New Orleans but also the 
whole Province of Louisiana. 

There was no time to write to President Jef- 
ferson and ask his advice, and this was before 
the days of the cable ; so Monroe and Living- 
ston took the matter into their own hands, 
and signed the contract which transferred the 
Louisiana territory to the United States for a 
consideration of $15,000,000. They were se- 
verely criticized by many of their own country- 
men, and they had some doubts of their own 
about the wisdom of their action. You see, 
nobody knew then that corn and wheat would 
grow so abundantly in this territory, or that 
beyond the Mississippi there were such stretches 
of glorious pasture-lands, or that underneath its 
mountainous regions were such mines of gold, 
silver, and copper. Americans saw only the 
commercial possibilities of the river, and all 

they wanted was the right of navigating it and 
the permission to explore the unknown country 
to the westward. 

But Jefferson and Monroe and Livingston 
builded better than they knew. All this hap- 
pened a hundred years ago ; and to-day that 
old Louisiana territory is, in natural resources, 
the wealthiest part of the whole United States. 
Without th at territory in our possession we should 
have no Colorado and no Wyoming, no Dako- 
tas, or Nebraska, or Minnesota, or Montana, 
or Missouri, or Iowa, or Kansas, or Arkansas, 
or Louisiana, or Oklahoma, or Indian Territory; 
and, naturally, no Fair at St. Louis next year. 

If Columbus had never discovered America, 
you know, we could never have had a World's 
Fair in Chicago ten years ago ; and if Mr. Mon- 
roe and Mr. Livingston had never purchased 
Louisiana, we could have no Louisiana Pur- 
chase Exposition. 

For all these reasons we owe our most sin- 
cere and hearty thanks to the patriotic and far- 
sighted men who were concerned in buying this 
territory for the United States. 

" Mama," said Billy, " what do you want " And what else ? " said Billy. " You must 

for Christmas ? " want more." 

" Dear me ! " said Billy's mama, " I don't " I want a long sealskin ulster." 
know of a single thing that I want." " Say something else — say lots of things." 

" But you must say you want things," said " I want a new carriage and a lace collar 

Billy. "You must — it 's a sort of game. It and some curtains for baby's room." 
does n't matter whether you really want the " Mama," said Billy, coming close to her 

things or not." side and speaking very earnestly, " don't you 

" Oh, I did n't understand," said mama, want a card like that one I painted this 

entering into the game. " Well, then, let me see. morning ? " 
I should like a diamond pin." " Oh, dear, yes," said mama, quickly, " I 




/, — a • ffffm 



should love to have a beautiful card like those 
you paint ! " 

Billy went to the window and looked out at 
the snow and the sparrows hopping on the walk 
that ran down to the street. 

After a minute or two he came to mama's 
side again. " Mama," he said very solemnly, 

" I won't say which, 'cause I don't want to 
spoil your surprise ; but one of those things 
you told me you want you 're surely going to 
get for Christmas." 

Mama leaned over and kissed his bright 
little face, and said softly: " I do wonder which 
it will be ! " Anne Warner. 


By Alice Gertrude Field. 

'•Oh, Jim!" called Dorothy, hanging over 
the banisters. " Is that you ? " (As if there was 
anybody but Jim who came in with a slam and a 
double-shuffle and a whistle!) 

"Nope," said Jim; "I 'm Great-grandaunt 
Maria," and he double-shuffled again. 

" There 's a telegram on the hall table for 
uncle. It came just after he left and I did n't 
like to open it. Would you? " She was com- 
ing downstairs now. 

"Yes," said Jim, with his most lordly air; "/ 
would, but you should n't." Why should he 


not feel lordly ? Was he not the senior mem- 
ber of the family for two days ? The family 
just at present consisted of his cousin and him- 
self, for Jim's father and mother and Dorothy's 
father had made up a party and gone off for 

a few days. Jim's mother was Dorothy's aunt, 
and that is how he and Dorothy were cousins. 

Unfolding the yellow slip, he glanced over 
its contents ; then whistled long and shrill. 
" Great jumping Jehoshaphat ! It's from Mr. 
Brandon ; he 's coming to stay overnight." 

" Who 's he ? " Dorothy asked. " A friend of 
uncle's ? " 

" Yea, verily, — Mr. Brandon ! Don't you 
know him? Giles K. Brandon!" Jim gave 
the " K " with an impressive emphasis that car- 
ried understanding to Dorothy's brain. For a 
minute she stared at him with panting lips, then 
whirled, dropped on her knees, and fell to rum- 
maging in the lower shelf of the bookcase. 

In a moment she found what she sought, and 
springing up, waved a book wildly in the air, 
and stuck it under his nose with the laconic 
query, " Him ? " 

Jim withdrew his nose until he had room to 
read on the book's cover : " Essays. Giles K. 
Brandon." " The same," he said. " Why do 
you keep him on the lower shelf? It seems 
a strange place." 

Dorothy giggled. " But I was reading him." 

" Yes ? " encouragingly. 

" Don't be so silly — I was reading, and uncle 
came along and began to tease me about some- 
thing, and I laid the book down there in a 
hurry and chased after uncle when he ran out of 
the room. I had forgotten all about it. Now 
tell me quick. I did n't know uncle knew him. 
What a pity he chose to-day of all times ! You 
must telegraph him right away not to come." 

" Not I ! Why, I want to meet him ! " 

" So do I ; but we can't have him here with 
only us to entertain him." 

" Then let him entertain us. I don't doubt," 
added this shrewd boy, " that he '11 enjoy it 
quite as well. Anyway, he 's coming. And we 
can't head him off, for he does n't give any ad- 
dress. He's just passing through, I suppose, 
and thought he 'd stop off and see father." 



Dorothy gasped. A wild look came into 
her eyes. She started to run in three different 
directions, and changed her mind each time, 
whereupon James took her firmly by the arm, 
saying decisively : " Now, Dorothy, there 's no 
necessity for cleaning the preserve-cupboard, 
and I won't have it. He '11 never know in the 

" 'T was n't the preserve-cupboard, Jim ; it 's 
that shelf in the guest-room closet. Put any- 
thing on it and it tumbles right down on your 
head ; it needs another brace." 

" Well, I 'm sure he is n't coming with a 
Saratoga trunk to store all his clothes in our 
closets. And think what larks for us two to be 
entertaining the great Giles K. Brandon ! " 

" If we can," said Dot, doubtfully. 

" Of course we can ! I know just how to 
begin " ; and he walked down the hall to the 
telephone, called up his tutor, and composedly 
canceled the afternoon's appointment for his 
Greek lesson. 

" And now, Dot," he said briskly, as he 
hung up the receiver, " what shall we play 
with Giles K. while he 's here ? " 

" Oh, dear ! What time does he come ? " 

" The train gets into the city at half-past three. 
I '11 drive down and meet him. Taking it easy, 
we 'd get here about four-thirty." 

" Jim ! That would be three hours before 
dinner. I can't have him on my hands all that 
time. Can't you amuse him in the city through 
the afternoon ? " 

" I suppose I might." 

" What a pity you can't take him to the club ! " 

" M-m" — Jim reflected, then brightened, and 
added : " I don't know but I will ! " 

" Jim Saybrooke, you 'd never dare ! " 

" I don't know why not." 

" But you 're not a member ! " 

" Well, father is, and all the uncles. I shall 
be, probably, as soon as I 'm — " 

" Old enough ! " said Dot. 

" Eligible," continued Jim, with dignity. " It 's 
the proper place to take him, of course. Father 
would, and I 'm substituting for him. I 'm sure 
the members will be grateful to me for intro- 
ducing 'em to Giles K. Brandon." 

" Oh, I never heard of such — assurance ! 
Just suppose that they should turn you out ? " 

" Nonsense ! How would they look bundling 
a distinguished literary gentleman and the son, 
grandson, and nephew of a lot of their mem- 
bers out of doors ? I 'm glad you suggested it, 
Dot. I think Mr. Brandon will enjoy seeing 
the club ; and then," he added carelessly, " I 'd 
just as lief see it myself." 

" I don't doubt you would." She sighed in 
mingled apprehension and admiration for his 
daring. "It 's after two now. Sha'n't I order 
the horses ? " 

" Do, while I skip upstairs and get ready." 

" Well, dear — dear — dear — dear ! Where 
shall I begin ? " And as Jim disappeared 
around the turn of the stairs his cousin was 
beginning to look wild again. 

When he came down, the sleigh was at the 
door, and Dorothy was feverishly dusting what 
appeared to his masculine eye a perfectly im- 
maculate room. " Jim," she exclaimed, " how 
will you know him ? " 

" Oh, that '11 be easy," he said with assur- 
ance, though the question had not once oc- 
curred to him. " Here ! " He swept up a 
handful of magazines from the library table. 
" I '11 just glance through these while I 'm driv- 
ing down to the city, and I shall undoubtedly 
find him in the advertisements. Good-by, Dot. 
Put on that reddy-pinky silk thing you look so 
pretty in, and don't forget to have clean towels 
in his room," at which caution Dorothy gave a 
superior lifting of the eyebrows. 

While the busy hostess scurried about her 
rooms, the young host was speeding cityward to 
the music of jingling sleigh-bells. One hand 
kept a guiding touch on the lines, while the 
other hastily flapped over the magazine leaves ; 
and Jim grew hot with nervousness as in one 
magazine after another he hunted up the adver- 
tisement of Mr. Brandon's new book, only to 
find that its author's face was not pictured. At 
last he gave up, and threw the magazines under 
the seat in disgust. " Oh, well," he thought, 
" I know how he looks : something over forty, 
about medium height, and thin, with dark hair 
and along, droopy, dark mustache. I think I 've 
heard father describe him. If I keep an eye 
on the drawing-room car I can't miss him." 

Accordingly, as the New York train came 
puffing into the station, Jim stood on the plat- 




form, all attention, and so absorbed in survey- 
ing the persons coming down the steps of the 
parlor-car that he did n't notice a stout, florid, 
smooth-shaven gentleman who emerged from 
the smoker and looked about as if searching for 
a familiar face. When his eye lit upon Jim he 


evidently thought he had found it, for he 
walked straight toward the boy, set down his 
suit-case with a thump, and extended both 

" Hullo ! " he shouted cordially. " So this 
is the little boy ! " 

For a second Jim was completely bewildered 
by the sudden appearance of this meddlesome 

individual who distracted his attention from the 
great Giles K. Brandon : and then, too, his five 
feet seven was not accustomed to that style of 
address. In another instant he had grasped the 
situation, and also the fact that the merry gray 
eyes of the stranger were some inches below 
his own. " Why, so it 
is ! " Jim cried with 
hearty emphasis, grip- 
ping the offered hands. 
Then they said " Ha, 
ha, ha!" in concert, and 
were fast friends from 
that moment. 

" So I 'm not to see 
the big boy?" Mr. Bran- 
don said, as they walked 
along the platform to- 
gether. " Now I call 
that mean of you, Jem 
Saybrooke, to cheat me 
out of him that way! 
Your name is Jem Say- 
brooke, of course, little 
boy ? " 

" Jim," amended the 
" little boy." 

"Jim, to be sure. 
That's better. Is this 
your sleigh, little boy?" 
" It is. Hop right in, 
little boy, yourself," said 
Jim, with grave mouth 
and dancing eyes, and 
with a sly look down 
at his guest to see if he 
would resent the lib- 
erty of having the tables 
turned on him, or of be- 
ing called the little boy. 
" Well, he is bigger 
than you," insisted Mr. 
Brandon, tucking the fur robe comfortably 
around him, and measuring Jim with his eye. 
" Of course he is ! " 
" Big as ever, is he ? " 
" Indeed he is : biggest man /know." 
"That's right, little boy." 
You see, the famous Giles K. Brandon was 
by no means a stiff person, one with whom it 





was necessary to mind one's fs and q's; and 
this was a great relief, as Jim had naturally 
feared that in the company of so distinguished 
an essayist and critic he must be " extra par- 
ticular" in his own speech. 

Accordingly, with a mind care-free and a 
tongue wagging in its own natural way, he 
drove his guest about the city, pointing out to 
him, with inimitable " Jim-comments," various 
architectural freaks which were not ordinarily 
classed as show sights of the town. Then on 
to the club, where he had the good fortune 
to find several gentlemen who nodded to him, 
but who were not quite intimate enough to 
shout, " Well, youngster, how did you get in ? " 
With a nice discrimination, he selected and in- 
troduced those members who were friends of 
his father's, or who, as he thought, would be 
specially interested in or interested by the great 
Giles K. Having presented these individuals, 
he dropped modestly out of the conversation; 
and this, too, was fortunate, for he could not 
easily have answered all of the gentlemen's 

It was about five o'clock when they left the 
club. And out in the crisp air again Jim's 
spirits rose amazingly, for he had felt a bit 
apprehensive about that experience, though he 
would n't have had Dorothy guess it for worlds. 
The sleigh flew jingling up the homeward road, 
while the air rang with their jovial voices, and, 
almost an hour before dinner-time, they sped 
up the drive between the big trees, the house 
windows, brightly lighted, shining invitation and 

Dorothy, in the " reddy-pinky thing," with a 
pompadour that might have graced the queen's 
drawing-room, met them in the hall, and her 
look of horror and astonishment when he pre- 
sented the guest as " the little boy " caused 
Jim's soul fairly to " chortle " within him. 

After a few minutes' chat before the hall fire, 
the gentlemen started upstairs, Jim calling over 
his shoulder: "Oh, I say, Dot, we met Dr. 
Everett down the road a bit, and stopped to 
speak to him. It seems Mr. Brandon knows 
him very well." 

" Really ? " returned Dorothy, with polite in- 
terest, as became a hostess. " Was n't that 
nice ? Why did n't you ask him to dinner ? " 

" I did," said Jim, and he nearly choked try- 
ing to swallow his amusement at the swiftness 
with which his cousin's expression of amiability 
changed to one of dire displeasure. 

Half an hour later the two gentlemen, in din- 
ner garb, walked into the library, to find the 
hostess posed in a low chair before the fire, 
pretending to read the evening paper. (Jim 
knew it was a pose, but Mr. Brandon mistook 
it for grace.) The boy wore his dinner-coat 
with an acquired ease designed to conceal the 
fact that this was but its third wearing, and of 
the two he appeared the more distinguished. 
But when the Rev. Dr. Everett — tall, broad- 
shouldered, and gray-haired — arrived, the palm 
went to him, Jim looking sweet and young and 
rosy by comparison. (This Dorothy told him 
later, to his consequent indignation.) 

Dinner was great fun, more so for Jim than 
for Dorothy, on whom her responsibilities sat 
rather heavily. The waitress was noiseless and 
quick, the dinner appetizing, the centerpiece of 
pink roses fairly regal, and the very best glass 
and silver, china and damask made a brave 
show. Jim said afterward that he did n't have 
a minute's peace throughout the course that 
Dorothy had daringly ordered to be served on 
his mother's Royal Worcester, but he behaved 
with as great sang-froid as if his new first shav- 
ing-mug were of Sevres. 

Toward the end of the meal Jim saw his op- 
portunity to suggest a plan that had occurred to 
him as being rather good. Both Mr. Brandon 
and Dr. Everett, he had learned, were enthusi- 
astic whist-players: why not invite in two whist 
cronies of his father's, and thus keep the guest 
entertained through the evening ? But this 
suggestion met with slight response from the 
"little boy," who said, in substance, that he 
could play whist any time, and the people he 
wanted to meet were the friends of his host 
and hostess — if they could put up with an old 
fellow like him. 

" Put up with you ! " echoed Jim. " Why, 
they 'd be complimented nearly out of their 
wits!" Which speech Dorothy frowned upon as 
gushing, not to mention inelegant ; but it had a 
genuine ring that seemed rather to please the 
noted writer than otherwise. 

After dinner, therefore, having first produced 





2 33 

a box of his father's best cigars, Jim sought the 
telephone in the hall. Barney Dudley, his own 
particular chum, and Maude Stuart, his cou- 
sin's, were invited to " come over and meet Mr. 
Brandon, who 's staying with us." Barney was 
absent-minded that evening, and his blunt 
query of " Who in thunder 's he ? " was almost 
as difficult to answer as Maude's excited " What 
shall I wear ? " To both these demands he 
diplomatically replied, " Ask your mother "; and 
Dorothy, overhearing, wondered where Jim had 
picked up that sweet filial docility. 

On his return to the library, Mr. Brandon 
turned to the young man with the suspicion of 
a twinkle in his eye. " Capital cigars, these of 
yours, little boy," he commented. " I 'm glad 
to see you don't smoke, yourself." 

Dorothy listened anxiously, fearing some 
transparent excuse ; but Jim answered with 
composure, " No ; father does n't want me to 
yet," and she breathed again, proud of his hon- 
esty and good sense. 

It was evident, when the younger guests ar- 
rived, that they had profited by their appeals to 
maternal authority ; for Barney had Mr. Bran- 
don's books on the tip of his tongue, and pro- 
ceeded to recite the list into Dorothy's ear at 
the earliest opportunity; while Maude's costume 
was in every way most appropriate. 

That evening was one to remember. With 
lights turned low, they drew their chairs about 
the fire, laid driftwood on the blaze, and then 
they talked ! Mr. Brandon, who belonged to 
a hunting club in Canada of which a poet, an 
artist, and a prominent financier were also mem- 
bers, talked of his adventures, and Dr. Everett 
narrated some of his experiences in foreign 
lands, both speaking in a simple, familiar way 
that seemed to assume that some day you, too, 
would dine with the big-wigs or go hunting 
with the President. 

Mr. Brandon was a gentleman ; there was no 
question about that. What do you think he 
did in the midst of one of his most exciting 
hunting stories ? What but break off and, turn- 
ing to Jim, say to that astounded and flattered 
young man : " I wonder, little boy, if I can't 
persuade you to join us at the club sometime 
next summer ? " 

So overcome was the " little boy " that he 

actually stammered ; and the other" little boy," 
observing his confusion, dismissed the subject 
with a kindly " We '11 have to see if we can't 
manage that somehow." 

" Little Boy " Brandon's tastes really were 
boyishly companionable; for, after the dinner- 
guests had departed and the little lady of the 
house had been bidden a ceremonious good 
night, he was quite unwilling to retire in silence 
to bed. " Let's leave it open, Jim ! " he said, 
pointing to the door between his own room 
and Jim's ; and far into the night, chuckles, 
snatches of song, and mysterious whisperings 
traveled through that doorway. But none of 
them were loud enough to disturb Dorothy on 
the floor below. 

Despite this midnight dissipation, both " little 
boys " were up betimes in the morning ; and, 
after an early breakfast, the guest was escorted 
to the station in the big sleigh. The young 
people felt truly sorry to say good-by, and Mr. 
Brandon said he felt so, too. When they had 
seen the last of the genial face nodding from 
the car window, and the horses' heads were 
turned homeward, Dorothy drew a long sigh of 
gratification. " I do wonder, Jim," she said, 
wickedly regardless of grammar, " if 't was us 
or him that did it ! " 

" Now don't blab about this the minute the 
folks come home, Dot," said Jim; " it '11 be a 
lot more fun to have it crop up ' casual like,' 
you know." So when their elders returned, the 
cousins listened to the account of their trip 
with polite and genuine interest, and sup- 
pressed for the time the news they themselves 
were eager to tell. 

The " cropping up " came the morning after 
the arrival of the parents when — oh, happy 
chance ! — all were at breakfast. The post- 
man brought Dorothy a letter stamped with the 
monogram of a well ~:~own New York club, 
and a flat, square package securely sealed in 
extravagant disregard of postal rates. 

" Who 's your correspondent, Dolly? " teased 
her uncle, making big eyes; and oh, how it 
tickled Dorothy to say nonchalantly, " Oh, 
why, it must be from Mr. Brandon." 

" Mr. Brandon ! " echoed Mr. Saybrooke. 
"You don't mean Giles K., I suppose ? " 

Dorothy was apparently absorbed in her let- 




ter; but Jim said carelessly : "Who else? Pass did n't tell them, did we, Dot? And we've 
the grape-fruit, please, Jenny." had a lark that was worth telling. Mr. Brandon 

" No, -is it, really?" cried Mrs. Saybrooke, made us a visit while you were away." 
incredulous, while Dorothy's father picked up The sensation caused by this announcement 

was as great as the 
young wretches could 
possibly have wished. 
For a few seconds they 
succeeded in looking 
demure and innocent, 
then broke into merry 
peals of laughter. " Do 
open it, Jim ! Open it, 
Jim ! " cried Dorothy, 
hopping up and down 
in her chair. " I 'm 
simply expiring to 
know what he 's sent 
me ! Oh, this is the 
nicest letter, thanking 
us for our ' kindness and 
hospitality'; Mr. Bran- 
don is a perfect dear ! 
And — oh, here 's a 
hearty message to you 
all. ' Remember me to 
your aunt and uncle, 
please, and your father. 
Please tell them how 
sorry I was to have 
missed seeing them.' 
Is n't that lovely? Is 
the string cut, Jim ? 
Let me undo it ! " 

" It " proved to be 
an autographed copy 
of Mr. Brandon's new 
book, and a vainer 
person than Miss Ches- 
wick the family had 
never beheld. 

It so chanced that in 
their account of Mr. 

the discarded envelop and passed it to his Brandon's visit the cousins rather slurred the 
brother-in-law, who cried in excitement, " Well, afternoon at the club, in their eagerness to 
upon my word, it is ! " tell of the delightful evening in their own 

" Why, certainly," said Jim, looking sur- home, 
prised at his father's vehemence ; and then, as if It was not until Mr. Saybrooke strolled into 
with a sudden recollection, and in the most his club later in the day that he heard, on every 
nonchalant manner in the world : " Oh, we side, the full story of Jim's " guileless visit." 




He intended to reprove his son's forward- 
ness, but he did not, for when he reached the 
home gateway that night Jim came flying out 
of the door bare-headed, and rushed down 
the snowy drive to meet him, waving a letter 
above his head and pleading, "Oh, daddy, do 
let me go ! " 

One glance at his cheeks and eyes told the 
experienced parent that it would be useless to 
talk prudence to him then. So, overlooking his 
son's thoughtlessness in rushing out into the 
cold air without at least his hat, he pulled 
open his overcoat, tucked the ecstatically wrig- 

gling boy inside, and held out his hand for the 
letter. It was short but sweet : 

My dear Little Boy : This is to thank you for 
the "cracker-jack" (I think that's the name) time you 
and your jolly little cousin gave me. It is also to say 
that I saw Hawes this afternoon, and he tells me that 
reports from the fishing club indicate that August will 
be the time he and I shall choose for our trip. Remem- 
ber, I am counting on your joining us, and shall not 1 et 
you off for anything but a really incredibly good reason 
— reason, you notice, not excuse. 

Can't you bring the Big Boy along ? 

Cordially your friend, 

The Little Boy. 

is was ©na old. j®® 

sis b^esum® fctendlsTP 

til It t®oK : .n s 1h@y sexid, 




By Arthur J. Burdick. 

stands for cat," 
Said Johnny Pratt, 
" And this is how I show it: 
I put on ears ; 
It then appears 

Just how I chanced to know it, 


By H. Irving Hancock. 

More than twenty-five hundred years ago 
there sprang into existence, in Japan, an order 
of knights who were known as the samurai. To 
them was imparted all the learning, the polite 
breeding, and the forms of superiority that mark 
the gentleman. They were skilled in arms and 
versed in the arts of war, for they were the em- 
peror's fighting-men, and none but they were 
allowed to bear arms. 

As there could not always be war on hand, 
and as it was considered beneath the dignity 
of the samurai to go into any ordinary call- 
ings, it came about naturally that these little 
knights found much idle time on their hands. 
Being men of war, they turned their attention 
to athletic feats. One among the samurai con- 
ceived the idea of learning, by practice, the 
location of every sensitive nerve and muscle in 
the body. After that he discovered all the 
joints of the bones .that could be seized in such 
a way as to give momentary power over the mus- 
cles of an adversary. He practised with his fel- 
low samurai, and thus by degrees was developed 
the most wonderful system of athletics known 
in the world. The Japanese call this work jiu- 
jitsu. The deft pressures applied in the prac- 
tice of jiu-jitsu produce only momentary pain 
but do not really injure the muscles or nerves. 
In all other things the Japanese are the most 

polite people in the world ; so it follows that 
even in their fighting they have developed a 
humane yet effective method of self-defense. 
They do not strike out with the clenched fist, 
and seek to bruise, as do the Anglo-Saxons in 
their boxing contests. 

A knowledge of jiu-jitsu enables one almost 
instantly to convince his opponent that it is use- 
less to fight. There are now schools of jiu-jitsu 
everywhere in Japan. Every soldier, sailor, and 
policeman is obliged to perfect himself in the 
system. A Japanese policeman, possessed of 
the art, has been known single-handed to re- 
duce to submission and to take to the police- 
station four sturdy sailors of a foreign Asiatic 

But it is not merely as a means of gentlemanly 
self-defense that jiu-jitsu is to be considered. 
The system is undoubtedly the best one that 
has ever been devised for developing strength, 
and it is this feature of it which I wish to de- 
scribe to the young readers of St. Nicholas. 
While associated with the troops of other na- 
tions during the advance of the allies on Peking 
in 1900, the Japanese troops proved themselves 
in many cases able to march farther than the 
best American or English troops. President 
Roosevelt, who is a firm believer in all decorous 
athletic sports, is said to have devoted some of 


2 3 8 



his recreation-time during the last two or three 
years to the study and practice of this wonder- 
ful Japanese system. 

First of all, suppose we look into the feat 
which the Japanese consider the very best one 

ways. They next clasp hands, interlacing the 
fingers and securing a good grip. The feet are 
spread far apart, and each throws his chest 
against the other's. Now, balancing on the 
balls of the feet, and holding the arms as tense 

for hardening muscles and increasing endur- 
ance. It is known among them by a name that 
may be translated as the " struggle." Two 
boys of as nearly equal height, weight, and 
strength as possible should engage in this. 
Girls, however, may try this and most of the 
other exercises with as much physical profit as 
their brothers. The two opponents take posi- 
tion with arms stretched out horizontally side- 

as possible, each strives to push the other away 
from him. Almost every muscle in the body 
will be brought into play in this struggle. 

After awhile, as the exercise continues, one 
of the opponents will gain the advantage and 
push his fellow back inch by inch. When the 
victor is sure that he has won, he should bring 
his adversary's wrists down before him by means 
of a quick jerk and push him to the wall of the 




room. This conflict is exhausting and should 
not be extended beyond a minute's time for be- 
ginners, and not even those who have practised 
it for months should be allowed to stretch the 
time beyond two minutes. A rest, devoted to 
deep breathing, will be found necessary after 
each struggle, and not more than three or four 
such trials are advisable in one day's work. 

In order to secure the best grip with the 
hands in the "struggle" and in the other ex- 
ercises that are to be described, it is necessary 
to strengthen the hands and wrists to the great- 
est extent. When seated at a desk or table, 
hold the hand perpendicular to the wooden 
surface. Strike rapidly up and down with the 
lower edge of the hand, as if chopping with 
a hatchet. By " lower edge " is meant the lit- 
tle finger side of the hand. The thumb edge 
is indicated by the word " upper." When the 
lower edge of the hand has been sufficiently ex- 
ercised, strike the upper edge against the bot- 
tom of the desk-top. It is sufficient to exercise 
one hand at a time, and this may be almost un- 
consciously accomplished while reading or 
studying. The same work may be carried on 
against the arm of a chair. At first it is much 
better to strike the edges of the hands lightly 
against the surface used. After a while it is pos- 
sible to strike forcibly without fatigue or pain. 
In Japan some masters of the art can take up 
a stick of wood an inch in thickness and break 
it in two with a single blow by merely striking 
hard enough with the lower edge of the hand. 

It is possible, after a few weeks of practice, 
to double or treble the former muscular strength 
of the thumbs and fingers. Clench the fists as 
if about to strike a blow; next spread the thumbs 
and fingers as far apart as possible. Repeat this 
with as much speed as regularity of movement 
permits, and continue for two or three minutes 
at a time. 

Strength of wrist is acquired more readily 
through jiu-jitsu than by ordinary means of 
physical training. Simply hold the arms hori- 
zontally forward, fists clenched and palms up- 
ward. Move the fists only upward and down- 
ward, as far in each direction as it may be 
done. After a full minute of this, twist the fists 
from side to side, and not only the wrist but 
the whole arm will become more muscular. 

Now here is a little bit of strategy that is at 
once the most harmless and amusing as well 
as one of the most effective things in the way of 
self-defense. Let the opponent with whom you 
are practising reach out for you with his hands, 
or else ask him to attempt to strike you. Thrust 
both arms between his, take a firm grip upon 
the lapels of his coat, and pull his coat off and 
downward over his shoulders until the sleeves 
are brought down so that the shoulders of the 
coat are held securely just above the elbows. 
So simple is this trick that any boy can hold 
at utter disadvantage a fellow-contestant who 
possesses twice his strength. 

We . will now turn to Japanese feats that 
are used to strengthen rapidly the arms and in- 
crease the size and power of their muscles. 
Stand side by side, facing in opposite directions, 
with arms extended straight out. Cross your 
extended arm with the opponent's arm, the 
point of contact in each arm being midway 
between elbow and shoulder. Still keeping the 
arm straight out, try to swing your companion 
around. He must keep his arm in a straight 
line, employing just enough strength to offer 
fair resistance. Then the opponent should be 
given his opportunity to force your arm around 
in the same way. Five or six exercises of this 
kind for each contestant should be enough at 
any one time. The work should never be 
carried to a point that will cause labored 
breathing. After a rest go through similar work 
with the forearms opposed at a point midway 
between wrist and elbow. Then the same work 
may be done by opposing wrists. When these 
arm exercises have been faithfully carried out 
for a few weeks, there is no reason why any 
boy should have to confess to owning puny 
arms. Japanese masters of jiu-jitsu often have 
slender arms, but the strength in them is truly 

Here is another exercise : Hold the arms slant- 
ingly down before you, and clasp your oppo- 
nent's hands with the fingers tightly interlaced. 
One of the young gymnasts should try to force 
the other's arms upward and backward over the 
opponent's head. The work should be done 
slowly and be met by as much resistance as pos- 
sible. Three or four repetitions of this exercise 
are all that are desirable at one time, as you 



will soon discover. On another day the exer- 
cise may be varied by clasping hands with arms 
at the sides and endeavoring to force the oppo- 
nent's hands back of him past his hips. Prac- 
tice like this will accomplish more to build up 

gerous practice of lifting very heavy weights. 
It should always be remembered that rest must 
be taken after each exercise. While resting try 
deep breathing. Stand erect, though not in a 
strained position, and at each breath draw the 


, ,jSm 

pF ^^ 

- ■■- '"'■"" ^^^ " 

£** ^ 


a manly arm than can be effected with the ex- 
penditure of far more time in Indian-club and 
dumb-bell drills. 

In this first article the author has described two 
tricks of self-defense, and has explained a sys- 
tem of physical training that will make any boy 
strong who is not at the outset an absolute weak- 
ling. The Japanese, although men of very small 
stature, are among the strongest in the world. 
Any boy of fourteen or fifteen who will faith- 
fully practise their system of producing strength 
will find himself, at the end of a few months, 
able to cope in feats of power with the average 
man of twenty-five ; and all this without the dan- 

abdomen in and throw the chest out. As the 
breath is exhaled, let the chest fall inward again 
and the abdomen outward. From twenty min- 
utes to half an hour is a long enough time to 
devote to jiu-jitsu, and this includes the time 
spent in breathing during rests — for deep, cor- 
rect breathing is in itself one of the best exer- 
cises possible. In inhaling draw the breath 
through either the nostrils or the mouth, as 
preferred; in exhaling always let the breath 
escape through the mouth. 

The next article will describe additional feats 
for increasing strength, learned by the writer in 

(To be continued.) 


{Begun in the Novanber number.) 

By B. L. Farjeon. 

Chapter IX. 


They proceeded in a body, Mme. Tussaud 
heading the procession and showing the way 
with the bull's-eye lantern. Marybud Lodge 
and grounds formed quite a little estate, occu- 
pying about twenty-five acres, and it took the 
queer company several minutes to skirt the 
wall, which, as Lucy had informed them, com- 
pletely inclosed the property. The servants' 
door at the back was of solid oak, and there 
was not a chink to peep through ; neither was 
there any loophole in the stone wall through 
which they could peer into the grounds. 

" We must carry the place by assault," said 
Oliver Cromwell. 

" An we had a battering-ram with us," said 
Richard I, " the task would be much simpler." 

" We will hammer on the postern," said Guy 
Fawkes, " and when it is opened, though but 
the tenth part of an inch, I, being to the fore, 
will push my way in and slay the seneschal." 

"No, no, no!" cried Lucy. "It would be 
cruel — cruel ! Poor old Rowley has the rheu- 

" Being old and rheumatic," said Richard III, 
with a sardonic smile, " he is the more easily 
disposed of. One twist of his neck with these 
fingers, and there 's an end of him." 

" No, no, no ! " Lucy continued to protest. 
" You must not hurt poor Rowley." And then 
she said passionately : " I believe all I have 
read about you — yes, I do. So there ! " 

"If we made our presence known," said 
Cromwell, " would not one of the maids re- 
spond to our summons ? " 

" No, sir. Rowley always opens the door at 

" What post doth Rowley hold, sweetheart ? " 
asked Henry VIII. 

" He is our gardener, please your Majesty." 

" As none of our plans seem to suit this fro- 

Vol. XXXI.— 31-32. s 

ward minx," said Richard III, " we will set fire 
to the place and roast the inmates in their 

" You monster, you monster ! " sobbed Lucy. 
" Oh, why did you let such a cruel king come 
along, Mme. Tussaud ? " 

" Don't distress yourself, child," said the old 
lady. " No one shall be hurt." 

" An we had picks," said Richard I, " we 
could make a subterranean passage." 

" There is no time for that," said Mme. Tus- 
saud. " Besides, we have no picks." 

" Is there a scaling-ladder at hand ? " asked 

At mention of a scaling-ladder Mme. Tus- 
saud looked up at Loushkin. " Can you see 
over the wall, Loushkin ? " 

" Very nearly," he replied, tiptoeing. " It is 
too dark to see much, but it looks to me as if 
the ground was higher on the other side." 

" I have it," said Mme. Tussaud. " We 
must climb the garden wall." 

" Impossible ! " cried Queen Elizabeth. "We 
are not cats." 

" There is no other way. Loushkin shall be 
our ladder. We will climb up on his shoulders, 
step upon the wall, and jump into the grounds." 

" Well said, madame ; an excellent device ! " 
exclaimed Henry VIII. 

" No device is excellent," said Queen Eliza- 
beth, frowning, " with the rabble looking on." 

" Rabble ! " exclaimed Mary Queen of Scots, 
bridling up. " Rabble thyself, madame ! " 

" Have a care, Mary," said Elizabeth, warn- 
ingly, in answer. " The headsman waits for 
our behest." 

" He is my executioner, Elizabeth," inter- 
posed Mme. Tussaud, "and obeys no orders 
but mine. What is resolved upon must be car- 
ried out. Can any one suggest a better plan 
for obtaining entrance ? " 

" There is no better," said Richard I. " Our 
royal cousin must needs forego her scruples." 




" We yield to superior force," replied the 
haughty queen ; " but nath'less we will not for- 
get. A day will come ! " 

" But now to get over the wall," said Mme. 
Tussaud, interrupting. " Lucy, can the first per- 
son who enters the grounds unlock the gate from 
the inside?" 

" No, ma'am. Papa takes the keys into his 
bedroom every night." 

"Then there is no alternative. Richard of 
the Lion Heart will kindly show the way. He 
will be able to assist the ladies down when they 
stand upon the wall." 

Loushkin placed himself in position, and 
Richard I climbed up his body, stepped upon 
the wall, and jumped into the grounds. 

" Shall we go next ? " asked Mary Queen of 

" If you please, your Majesty," said Mme. 

In a moment the royal lady was standing on 
the top of the wall. 

" Jump ! " cried Richard I, from within the 

" Would we were there to catch thee ! " 
shouted Henry VIII, as Mary disappeared. 

" Now you, Julie," said Mme. Tussaud to 
Mme. Sainte Amaranthe. 

Kissing her fingers to the company, the young 
beauty climbed vivaciously up to Loushkin's 
shoulders and sprang over the wall like a bird. 

" The gentlemen will go next," said Mme. 
Tussaud, " and will settle the order of prece- 
dence among themselves." 

Cromwell stepped forward, but was pushed 
aside by Richard III, who, with the scornful 
remark, " First the lords, then the commons," 
was soon over the garden wall, despite his in- 
firmity. Charles II yielded precedence to 
Henry VIII, who, being fat and scant of breath, 
begged his assistance. 

" Give me a leg up, Charles," he said, " and 
be tender with me an thou lovest me." 

" Yes, Charles," said Mme. Tussaud, " get 
down on thy knees and serve as a step for Henry 
— i' faith, he is too heavily accoutred to climb 
up there alone ! Dear me, how natural it is 
to drop into the quaint speech of these dear 
old celebrities ! " 

It was with difficulty that he reached Loush- 

kin's shoulders, but he laughed good-humoredly 
all the time, and laughed the more when, in 
taking the jump, he alighted atop of Richard 
III and sent him sprawling. 

" A murrain on thee ! " growled Richard, 


rubbing his shins. " Canst not see where thou 
art leaping? " 

"Murrain in thy throat, thou misshapen 
knave ! " roared Henry. " Keep a civil tongue 
in thy head, thou saucy king, and take a jest 
in good part when it is served on thee ! " 

Knowing he was not a favorite and would 




be outmatched if it came to blows, Richard 
deemed it prudent not to pursue the quarrel. 
Then Charles II, Cromwell, and Hougua joined 
the company in the grounds. 

The headsman came next, and after him Guy 
Fawkes, who had stood in the rear, biting his 

" Will your Majesty follow ? " said Mme. 
Tussaud, with great deference. 

" An it must be, it must," replied Elizabeth, 
gathering up her skirts. " Tom of the Thumb, 
I will make a stepping-stone of thee." 

Tom looked rather serious at this, and whis- 
pered aside to Mme. Tussaud, " Pick up the 
pieces, and let the green grass wave over my 
grave." Nevertheless he bent his back, mur- 
muring quietly to himself, " This beats Sir Wal- 
ter Raleigh " ; and after repeated efforts Eliza- 
beth reached the garden wall and with a great 
deal of fuss was lifted safely down. There re- 
mained now only Loushkin, Tom Thumb, Lucy, 
and Mme. Tussaud. 

" I have been thinking," said the old lady, 
"that it will never do to leave the post-office 
van in the lane. It would cause inquiries to 
be made, and we might be discovered." 

" There is an old stable belonging to papa a 
little way down," said Lucy. " It is not used 
for anything, and is quite empty. We have a 
nicer stable inside our grounds." 

" That will do capitally ; we will put the 
horses and van in there." 

" But there is no corn for them to eat." 

" I will give them a touch of my magic cane. 
Then they will not need any corn." 

Loushkin led the horses into the stable, 
Mme. Tussaud gave them the magic touch, and 
the door was secured. Then Loushkin lifted 
Tom Thumb, Mme. Tussaud, and Lucy over 
the wall, and climbed over it himself. The 
entire party was now within the grounds. 

Chapter X. 


From where they stood they could see, 
through the trees and bushes, the outlines of 
the dwelling-house, about a hundred yards away. 
It was a large, odd-looking building, dating back 
to the seventeenth century, and, as additions 

had been made from time to time, a wing here 
and a wing there, without any regard to archi- 
tectural design, it presented a very straggling 
appearance. There were banks and beds of 
flowers about, from which a pleasant perfume 
arose, and a number of trees; and in front of 
the porch was a nice patch of level grass, upon 
which was a lawn-tennis net. Richard III 
stumbled over the pegs, which set him growling 
and fuming, and most of the others to smiling. 

" Everybody is asleep, I suppose," said Mme. 
Tussaud, peering up at the windows ; and Lucy 
replied they were sure to be. " We must get 
in somehow. Where does Rowley sleep ? " 

"At the back of the house; and Flip sleeps 
in the room with him." 

" Who is Flip ? " 

" The Odd Boy. He helps Rowley in the 
garden, and we call him the Odd Boy because 
he is the only one we keep." 

" A very good reason. We will go to the 
back door, and you shall wake Rowley. We 
will keep out of sight until the door is opened. 
Then I will explain." 

"And if Master Rowley be not satisfied with 
the explanation," said Richard III, "we will 
undertake to make him so." 

" I will have no violence," said Mme. Tus- 
saud; " I have given my promise." 

" Promises are but words," said the scheming 

" When a promise is made it must be kept, 
Richard," said Mme. Tussaud, " and I will 
take good care that my promises are kept." 

"Bully for you, madam," said Tom Thumb; 
" the American Eagle waves its fla.g over you. 
The more I see of you, Richard Three, the 
more I don't like you. You are not popular, 
king, with T. T., nor with the company gener- 
ally, if I am a judge of human nature. Three 
cheers for Richmond ! Oh, you may frown ! I 
guess I can take the starch out of you. Do you 
know what Sweet Will says of you ? 

" A bloody tyrant, and a homicide ; 
One raised in blood, and one in blood established. 

That 's your record, Richard Three, in black 
and white — a plagued sight of black, and not 
much white to speak of." 

This defiant speech was spoken while they 




were walking to the back door, at which they 
now paused ; and Lucy, advancing, rapped on 
it till she had made herself heard within. 

" Who be there ? " a voice cried from the 
room. " If it be burglars, bide a bit till I get 
my gun." 

" No, Rowley, no," Lucy cried softly; "don't 
get your gun. It is n't burglars. Open the 
door — quick! " 

" La me! " the same voice exclaimed. " Be 
that you, little missy ? " 

" Yes, Rowley, yes. Do open the door ! " 

" Bide a bit, missy, till I get my candle. 
Flip, you raskel, git up, or I '11 leather ye." 
Those outside now saw through the window 
the glimmer of the candle Rowley had lighted. 
" I sha'n't be a minute, missy ; but, 'eaven and 
earth, what be the matter ? Be the house 

He opened the door and stood there, half 
dressed, shading the candle with his hand. 
The Odd Boy, in his bare feet, stood behind 
him. Lucy stepped into the room and kept 
her back to the door. 

" It be little missy, surely," said Rowley, an 
old man with the gardener's stoop in his bones, 
which were all curves. " Well, well — a feather 'd 
upset me. Land o' mercy, who be these ? " For 
the celebrities were now slowly filing in, one after 
another, and Rowley retreated to the extreme 
end of the room in a state of terror, while the 
Odd Boy bolted under the bed and howled. 

" They are my friends, Rowley," said Lucy, 
speaking very rapidly. " Please don't cry out, 
or papa will be angry, and you will get me into 
trouble. You would n't do that, would you, 
Rowley ? " 

" N-n-noa, missy," Rowley managed to an- 
swer, with chattering teeth. 

" Flip, be quiet ! " cried Lucy. " If you keep 
on whining, papa will give you notice, and then 
what will your mother do ? " 

" Be I asleep or awake ? " exclaimed Rowley. 
" Come out o' that, Flip, and give me a pinch. 
That '11 do, ye young rapscallion ! I be awake, 

"Now, Rowley, be good — you 've always 
been good to me." 

" Thank ye, missy, but I be a kind o' flab- 
bergasted with all these grand folk at this time 

o' the morning. Where 'd ye all come from, if 
I do not make too bold in asking ? " 

" From London, Rowley." 

" From Lunnon — all the way from Lunnon ! 
No, I be n't awake ; I be asleep." 

" Let me explain," said Mme. Tussaud, step- 
ping forward. " Miss Lucy has given you a 
very good character — " 

" Thank ye, missy, thank ye." 

" And looks upon you as her friend — " 

" I be that surely. I 'd do anything in the 
world for missy ; but doan't her feyther know — " 

" Her father knows nothing," said Mme. Tus- 
saud. " He 's an unreasonable, obstinate old 
gentleman — " 

" Ay, ay; you 're not fur off there, my lady." 

" And is bent upon making everybody miser- 
able— " 

Here Lucy broke in with her fresh, eager 
voice : " You know, of course, Rowley, that 
Lydia hates the monster — Mr. Lorimer Grim- 
weed, I mean — " 

" That be a fact — and so do I, missy." 

"And so do we all," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" Do we not, celebrities ? " 

With the exception of Richard III, they cried 
as with one voice, " We do ! " 

" Good ! but not so loud next time," warned 
the Little Old Woman in Black. 

" And we all like Harry Bower, do we not, 
celebrities ? " 

" We do ! " — this in a hoarse whisper. 

"You doan't say, missy," said Rowley, " that 
all these grand folk be friends o' Mr. Bower's? " 

"They are, Rowley — all of them." 

Then, as though she were directing a band of 
musicians, Mme. Tussaud turned to the celebri- 
ties and waved her cane, whereupon they said, 
as before, " We are ! " 

" Then plagued if they be n't friends o' mine, 
and there 's my fist on it." 

He held out his horny hand, but the only 
one who showed a disposition to take it was 
Tom Thumb, who, jumping up and darting for- 
ward, said : 

" For one and all, old man. Shake ! " 

" So, as we are determined," continued Mme. 
Tussaud, " that Miss Lydia shall not be made 
miserable by that Grimweed man, we have 
come down to bring her papa to reason." 




Rowley slowly shook his head. " It be more 
than any one can do, my lady. It 's unpossible. 
Why, he knows what 's good for everybody 
better than anybody. Bring measter to reason ! 
'T ain't to be done. 'T ain't to be done." 

"Ay, my lady," said the devoted old man. 
" I '11 stand by little missy and Miss Lyddy 
through thick and thin." 

" On thy knees and swear it ! " roared 
Henry VIII, striding forward and clapping his 

"and every one was as jolly as jolly could be." (see page 247.) 

" We shall see. We are not going to hurt 
Mr. Scarlett — we have too much respect for 
him. But we have no respect for the Grim- 
weed man, and should not mind hurting him a 
little — only a little — just enough to make him 
understand. And so that Lydia and Lucy may 
be happy, we want you to help us." 

"You will, won't you, Rowley ? " said Lucy. 
"You would n't break my heart — and Lydia's!" 

" Break your hearts, missy ! Why, I be 
ready to lay down my life for ye." 

" Then you will do what we wish you to do ? " 

" Ay, that I will." 

" And what we tell you to do," said Mme. 
Tussaud, " that you will faithfully do ? " 

hand on Rowley's shoulder, who shook as 
though he had been seized by an ague. 

" Yes, do, Rowley, for my sake," pleaded 
Lucy, and whispered in the old fellow's ear: 
" You must n't mind the way they speak ; it 's 
the way they 've been brought up." 

Rowley dropped on his knees with a " Marcy ! 
Marcy ! What will be the end o' me ? " 

" Dost thou swear to be faithful and true ? " 
demanded Henry. 

" Say ' Yes, your Majesty,' " whispered Lucy. 

"Yes, your Majesty," stammered the fear- 
stricken gardener. 

" 'T is well. Play us false and thy head 
shall grace the Tower gates. And thou, Flip 




of the Odd, down on thy marrow-bones and 
swear ! " 

Down flopped the Odd Boy by Rowley's side. 
Mme. Tussaud would have intervened, but 
Henry waved her aside, saying: 

" We play not quite the part of mice, Mme. 
la Tussaud. Doth our royal dignity count for 
naught ? Hath the varlet sworn, ma belle ? " 

" Yes, sire," Lucy replied. " I answer for 
them both." 

"Thou art wise beyond thy years, sweet- 
heart, and these faithful servitors shall be re- 
warded. Rise, Sir Rowley. We attach thee 
and Flip of the Odd to our royal person. Lead 
the way to the banqueting-hall and set before 
us thy choicest viands." 

" My goodness gracious, Rowley," exclaimed 
Lucy, " King Henry has made you a knight ! " 

" What be that, missy ? " asked Rowley, rising 
from his knees. "Nothing bad, I hope. Doan't 
ye be telling me it 's something bad, doan't ye 
now ! " 

" No, it 's nothing bad. You are Sir Row- 
ley. Oh, how funny ! What will papa say ? 
And where 's your sword and shield ? Sir 
Rowley, if you please, we are all very hungry. 
Is there anything in the larder ? " 

" There be always something in the larder, 
missy," he answered, bewildered by the expla- 
nation ; " but 't is more than I dare to do, to go 
there without Mrs. Peckham's leave, and there 's 
no getting her at this time o' night. She keeps 
her door locked, and sleeps like a top. She 's 
mighty particular about her kitchen, missy, as 
you know." 

" Yes; but you '11 do what we want, Rowley, 
won't you ? " 

" Of course he will," said Mme. Tussaud, 
answering for him. " Show the way, Lucy." 

" I hope you won't mind eating your supper 
in the kitchen," said the little girl, turning to 
the celebrities. " The banqueting-hall — I mean 
the dining-room — is under papa's bedroom, and 
we might disturb him." 

" Let us go, let us go," said Henry. " We 
are famishing." 

Thither they proceeded, the Odd Boy going 
first with a candle ; and after the gas was 
lighted the celebrities made themselves so much 
at home that Mrs. Peckham, the cook, would 

have gone into hysterics had she witnessed the 
scene. The kitchen was a picture of neatness. 
Everything was in apple-pie order. The floor 
was swept clean, the hearth brushed up, the 
tables and dressers sweet with the last vigorous 
scrub, the saucepans, the dish-covers, the fry- 
ing and stewing pans, and every tin and cop- 
per utensil shone like silver and gold. Cups 
and saucers, plates, dishes, mugs, jugs, knives, 
forks, and spoons — there was not a single arti- 
cle where it ought not to have been. You 
might have eaten off the floor and been none 
the worse for it. 

Three cats witnessed the entrance of the in- 
vaders, a black, a tortoise-shell, and a white 
Persian. For the last of these, cook made a 
bed every night in a basket lined with flannel. 
The two feline commoners purred when the 
gas was lighted, and made themselves quite 
friendly with the company, rubbing their heads 
against the royal visitors as though they had 
been on intimate terms for years. The fat and 
indolent Persian did not move from her warm 
couch, but merely blinked her eyes and gazed 
indifferently at the intruders through her half- 
closed lids. 

Here occurred an exciting episode which set 
the party in commotion. The three lady celeb- 
rities began to scream loudly, and jumping on 
the kitchen table, pointed with terrified looks to 
a nimble little mouse trying its best to escape 
from the room. By the time the gentlemen 
had armed themselves with pokers, tongs, and 
shovels the creature had disappeared, and the 
ladies were prevailed upon to be seated ; but as 
there were only two chairs in the kitchen the 
company was obliged to sit upon the table. 
This adventure happily ended, plates, dishes, 
knives and forks, and spoons and glasses were 
taken from the dresser-shelves and drawers, and 
then Lucy and Rowley and the Odd Boy and 
Mme. Tussaud, and of course Tom Thumb, ran 
in and out of the larder, fetching everything 
eatable that could be found, and laying it before 
the celebrities. 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear me!" thought Lucy; 
" what will Peckham say when she comes 
down to cook the breakfast, and what would . 
she say now if she peeped into the room ? 
Oh, how she would stare!" 




The sight would have made any one stare. No, indeed ! Even in Guildhall such a sight 

It is not every day that Henry VIII can be 
seen sitting on a kitchen table between a fash- 
ionable French beauty and a Scottish queen, 
sharing a roast chicken with them, giving them 
the titbits, and, like a gallant monarch, eating 
the drumsticks himself; nor Queen Elizabeth 
with a dish of pigeon-pie on her lap, which 
she was enjoying greatly ; nor Richards I and 
III and Charles II and Oliver Cromwell dis- 
posing of great slices of ham and beef; nor 
Guy Fawkes and a Russian giant, whose head 
touched the ceiling, reveling in the remains of 

could not be seen at the beginning of the twen- 
tieth century. 

And how they all enjoyed it ! And how gra- 
ciously Queen Elizabeth bent over Tom Thumb 
as, upon one knee, he gallantly offered her a gen- 
erous share of his cherry-pie. And what subdued 
laughter and clapping of hands at the discom- 
fiture of Richard III and Guy Fawkes when 
they tried to filch choice morsels from their 
neighbors' plates ! And how Henry called for 
more, and then for something to wash it down ! 
There was a nine-gallon cask of cider in the 

a beefsteak-pudding ! Houqua, with a pair of larder, which was immediately laid under con- 

chop-sticks, which he took from the folds of 
his padded robe (where he seemed to keep a 
general store), was dexterously eating a dish 
of boiled rice like a conjuror. General Tom 
Thumb was engaged in cutting a piece from a 
big cherry-pie; and the Executioner of the good 
old days was heartily munching bread and 
cheese, while his eyes glared through his mask. 

tribution ; and everything was going on swim- 
mingly, and every one was as jolly as jolly 
could be, when all at once Lucy held up her 
hand and cried : 

" Hush ! " 

They all stopped and listened. The sound 
of soft footsteps fell upon their ears. 

Somebody was coming downstairs ! 

( To be continued.) 



-'AMNES -«AND- 8 HIS- S CAT 8 

By Margaret Johnson. 

Far, far away, beside the Nile, 
Where dwells the sacred crocodile 
(Nor ever wore so wide a smile 

The fabled fierce chimera !), 
The pillars and the porticos 
Of Nepthah's princely house arose, 
Three thousand years, as I suppose, 

Before our modern era. 

And there, one hot Egyptian noon, 
His guests, arriving late or soon, 

He met with welcome hearty ; 
For Nepthah and his lady gay 
Were giving on this summer's day, 
In their antique but graceful way, 

A little dinner-party. 

That was not much to them, you know. 
And though he built a sphinx or two 
When he had nothing else to do, 
The obelisk was quite the thing, 
All nicely carved with disk and ring. 
To guard a mansion stately. 

Here, one by one, the guests rode in, 
With curricle or palanquin. 
How bad the walking must have been, 
Just when the Nile's receding flood 
Had covered all the land with mud, 
I leave you to conjecture ! 

The ladies came with parasols, 

And chains and rings and fol-de-rols, 


ggg jgjggi jgj^ 

flit eH^T 

Near by were palm and tamarisk, 
And in their midst an obelisk 

The prince had bought but lately ; 
For pyramids, along the Nile, 
Had been considered out of style 
For quite a long ( Egyptian) while — 
A thousand years, perhaps, or so ; 

And dangling beetles by the score 
(A very stylish bug of yore !), 
And braided chignons, too, they wore, 
Of wondrous architecture. 

The men were — well, in evening dress, 
Of cut peculiar, I confess, 




And, make no doubt, domestic ; 
Each proud and splendid in a big 
Egyptian kind of periwig, 
And on his brow, serene, unmoved, 
That lofty calm by kings approved, 

A gravity majestic. 

Their brows, with oil politely wet 
(I 'm glad it 's not the custom 

With lovely garlands, too, were set, 

Of lotus and papyrus ; 
And in the parlor soon they sat, 
Engaged in hieroglyphic chat — 
If we could only talk like that, 

How people would admire us ! 

Meantime, by bitter feelings rent, 
While all within were well content, 
The scion of this noble house 
By Nepthah and his careful spouse 

Was from the feast excluded. 
No comfort his but — sorry day ! — 
A cooky made with caraway, 
Which in his listless fingers lay. 
He leaned, in clothing somewhat scant 
(His costume is not now extant), 
Against the wall's convenient slant, 

And on his miseries brooded. 

Within the parlor's perfumed bowers 
Those happy guests would sit for hours, 
All smelling of their lotus-flowers. 
And lovely music there would be, 
And dancing, too, and jugglery, 

Beheld by every flunky ! 
While he, forsooth, was not allowed 
To mingle in the festive crowd, 
Where chattered, quite sedate and proud, 

His mother's favorite monkey ! 

At dinner-time, oh, luscious juice — 
He smelled it now — of roasted goose! 
There would be game, with onions girt, 
And watermelon for dessert, 

And cakes all sweet and crumby. 
His aunts and uncles would be there, 
His parents, in a double chair, 
His grandma, too, all painted red — 
For though, good lady, she was dead, 


They did not mind a thing like that, 
But fondly, where she should have sat, 
Placed her beloved mummy ! 

Now Amnes was a lovely boy, 
His princely parents' pride and joy, 
If we indeed may trust 'em ; 


His little nose was nice and straight, 
Like Pharaohs' of an early date ; 
And though we can discover but 
His profile in this little cut, 




His eye, you see, is clear and wide, 
And we must hope he was supplied 
With one upon the other side, 
And that he did not always go 
With both feet in a line, although 
The artist represents it so, 
As was their playful custom. 

At school he learned arithmetic, 
And measuring rivers with a stick ; 
And if, when teachers failed to look, 
He sometimes scribbled in his book, 
Why, who can little Amnes blame, 
When all his family did the same, 
Like good and true Egyptians ? 
They scribbled up their parlor walls, 
Their tombs, their temples, and their 

And quarried columns by the ton, 

And set them up, just for the fun 
Of putting on inscriptions. 

But now, bereft of all employ, 
The prince was still a little boy, 
And Satan, then as now, could find 
Some mischief still, an idle mind 

And idle hands bestirring. 
As lorn and lonely Amnes sat, 
He all at once espied a cat 
That curled near by upon a mat, 

And coaxed her to him, purring. 

Now little boys in Egypt land 
Were early taught to understand 
The cat was sacred, tooth and claw, 
From velvet ear to cushioned paw, 
A thing to hold in reverent awe — 
Alas for him who teased it ! 




But Tabby's tail was thick and soft ; 
With yearning he had marked it oft, 
And now — temptation was too great : 
He grasped — oh, awful to relate, 
Regardless of his future fate, 
Deliberately he squeezed it ! 

Within the hall the feast was spread, 
The guests filed in, by Nepthah led, 

Her ladies, coming up in rows, 
Held lotus-blossoms to her nose, 
While ran the guests, in panic wild, 
To seek and seize the erring child 
Whose fault their feast had tainted. 

But Amnes, listening from without, 
Felt, all too late, a fearful doubt, 
Beheld his crime atrocious ; 

"the wanderer, seated piteous 
upon a chill sarcophagus." 

The view was more than pleasing, 
When on the air, so calm but now, 
There rose a shrill and dreadful Miaow ! 
That drove the color from each brow, 

Their blood with horror freezing. 

Too well that anguished wail they knew ! 
Prince Nepthah from the table flew, 
The princess screamed and fainted. 

And gripping Tabby close, for fear 
That she might tell, — the cats, we hear, 
In Egypt were precocious, — 

Rose up and fled. The barn, the pond, 
The brimming granaries beyond — 
These would not do for hiding ! 
The sphinxes, looming vast and dim, 
Looked dumb reproach and scorn on him! 




Then all at once he stopped. 
A thought into his head had popped: 
There was a place whose friendly gloom 
For him and Tabby too had room, 
A cheerful spot — his father's tomb, 
The prince's own providing. 

Upon the hill, not far away, 
This crown of Nepthah's splendor lay ; 
And here they found, when twilight fell 
(For not a sphinx, it seems, would tell), 
The wanderer, seated piteous 
Upon a chill sarcophagus. 
" My son!" And Nepthah would, I wis, 
Have something said that looked like this: 

P =e.-Jt 


Well might young Amnes fear him ! 
But suddenly upon the wall 
The angry father's glance did fall, 
And there, portrayed in lively tints, 
Amazed, he saw himself, the prince ! 
His wife, too, in her Sunday chintz, 
Both smiling sweetly as they could 
On Amnes, who before them stood 
Angelically mild and good, 

With pussy purring near him. 

" What ! " Nepthah cried. " My dear, 't is 
(For even princes stumble thus.) 

" The likenesses are marvelous ! 
And see, his brush is in his hand ! 
I quake — I fear to understand ! 
My noble boy, you painted that? " 
Forgotten was the injured cat, 
The horrid deed that he had done, 
As, weeping, they embraced their son, 

His genius recognizing ; 
He too, an honored hero now, 
Had garlands for his gifted brow, — 


A lotus-flower to smell, I trow, — 
And home was borne in happy state, 
Where, with the rest, his dinner, late, 
But sumptuous to the end, he ate 
With appetite surprising. 

My story 's told. But let me say 
That never from that fateful day — 
So much experience doth avail — 
Did Amnes pull a kitten's tail 

Or puss have cause to doubt him. 
An artist great he lived to be 
Of that distinguished dynasty ; 
And when some day to Thebes you go, 
Through tomb and temple wandering slow, 
Perchance to you it may befall 
To see upon the sculptured wall, 
In fading lines of red and blue, 
The picture little Amnes drew, 
Three thousand years and more ere you 

Were born, to read about him ! 


By Edwin L. Sabin. 

When we 've chopped down a tree, 

Will it grow, sirs, or not, 
If we straight chop it up 

On the very same spot ? 

Say a house has burned down 

In a terrible fire — 
Had it burned up, instead, 

Would the flames have gone higher ? 

And answer me this : 

When we 've emptied our cup, 
Have we drunk down our tea, 

Or, forsooth, drunk it up ? 

So, to show where our speech 
Has one claim to renown, 

I am writing it up 

While I 'm writing it down ! 


By Malcolm Douglas. 

A little man's gift was a stiff brush and comb, 
And he 'd have been highly delighted, no doubt, 

But he had n't a hair on the top of his head ; 

Now, what was good Santa Claus thinking about ? 

2 53 


Little Fairy Flyaway tore her gauzy wing: 

She fell into a bramble-bush from out her cobweb swing; 

The fairies always knew she was a careless little thing! 

Sorry little Flyaway, sobbing in despair, 

Heard a sudden humming through the summer air — 

Looked to find a Dragon-fly close beside her there. 

Don't you know me, Flyaway?" loud and long buzzed he. 
I 'm the fairies' darning-needle — if it were n't for me, 
What a very ragged set you thoughtless elves would be!" 

Busy, buzzing Dragon-fly darned the tear with speed, 
Made the pretty, filmy wing beautiful indeed; 
Even fairies find it good to have a friend in need ! 

Hannah G. Fernald. 


By John M. Ellicott, Lieutenant U. S. N. 

Some time ago, after a few days' leave, a 
naval officer went to a certain city, early one 
morning, to rejoin his ship, and found that she 
had sailed away. Not knowing where she was 
bound, he felt very much " at sea," when a friend 
asked him why he did not telegraph. 

Said the friend : " Your ship has been fitted 
with the wireless telegraph apparatus; and there 
is a wireless station here." 

" Can you call up the ' Prairie ' ? " asked the 
officer, at the wireless station. 

" Oh, yes," was the reply, and the operator 

tapped off a few loud and luminous sparks on 
his transmitter. Almost immediately the little 
wheel at his elbow commenced reeling off its 
tape with dots and dashes on it. 

"Ask the Prairie where she is," said the officer, 
" and inform her captain that I am here waiting 
to report on board." 

The message was quickly sparked on its 
way, and within three minutes the tape reeled 
off, in reply : 

" The Prairie is one hundred and twelve miles 
at sea, but will return this afternoon." 




" All right," said the much relieved officer. 
" Telegraph her steward to save my lunch." 

Since the beginning of 1903 two ships in the 
navy, the " Prairie" and the " Topeka," have 
been engaged in experiments with wireless 
telegraphy between each other at sea and 
between themselves and the shore. Sev- 
eral systems have been tried under the 
supervision of a board of naval officers, 
and after the completion of these experi- 
ments some one of the systems may be 
adopted. Stations have been established 
at places on shore, such as Cape Eliza- 
beth, Montauk Point, Annapolis, and 
Washington, and, just before the naval 
manceuvers last summer, four additional 
ships were equipped, so that the " wire- 
less " could be used in the " war games." 

A wireless telegraph system on board 
ship consists of a dynamo to generate an 
electrical current ; of a special telegraph ap- 
paratus to control that current, to break it 
up into long waves and short waves, and 
to send these waves through the air until 
they hit upon the receiving apparatus of 
another station and make dashes and 
dots on its receiver; and, finally, of wires 
from the telegraph apparatus to the masthead 
of the ship, so that the waves can start from 
there clear of all obstructions. These waves 
are spherical in shape and so extend in every 
direction. They might be compared to huge 
soap-bubbles that increase in size as they grow 
out from their source — the greater the dis- 
tance, the thinner or weaker they become. 

And here lies the trouble with wireless teleg- 
raphy: that the message goes in all directions. 
Not only the station for which it was intended 
will receive the message, but any other station 
which the message waves may reach before they 
lose their strength will also receive it. For use 
in war, that part of the trouble could be over- 
come by using a cipher code; but even then 
an enemy's ship, receiving a message in an un- 
known cipher, would know that some vessel of 
the defending squadron was near. The worst 
part of the trouble caused by the waves going 
in all directions is that one set will get mixed 
up with other sets from other sending stations, 
just as waves circling away from two or more 

stones dropped in the water will meet and get 
jumbled up. Tf two or more sending stations 
try to talk at once, it will be, at the receiving 


station, like trying to listen to several conversa- 
tions at the same time. If one station is saying 
c-a-t and another d-o-g, the receiving station may 
get c-d-a-o-t-g, or the waves may overlap so as 
to turn dots into dashes and make no letters at 
all. So, again, an enemy's vessel, approaching a 
coast and hearing on his "wireless" a defending 
scout trying to tell of his coming, can break in 
on the message merely by continuously repeat- 
ing a single letter, and make the information 
completely unintelligible. It is said that this 
may be overcome by having the instruments, 
so to speak, " tuned up " differently from those 
of the enemy, so that the waves sent out would 
not fit his receiver, and vice versa; but even 
then the enemy could probably, by " tuning " 
his instrument up or down, strike the proper key 
and accomplish his interference. 

Sometimes other electrical connections in a 
ship get mixed up with the wireless telegraph. 
On a certain vessel in the navy, newly equipped 
with " wireless," there were electrical connec- 
tions to her pilot-house to show the revolutions 
of the engine and also the speed registered 

25 6 


by the taffrail-log. As soon as the vessel got 
under way a most garrulous conversation began 
over the " wireless " between the propeller and 
the taffrail-log. No doubt the propeller was 

ways even more imperfect, and their develop- 
ment into the systems of to-day was never even 
dreamed of. 

It is plain to see that the need which nothing 






quarreling with the log for not telling the truth 
about the speed. 

The distance to which a wireless message 
can be sent is chiefly a question of the strength 
of the electrical current generated and sent out, 
and instruments are manufactured for different 
strengths according to the distance over which 
they are intended to be operated; but an in- 
strument powerful enough to carry, say, one 
hundred miles can be adjusted to a radius of 
only ten or fifteen miles, and to intermediate 
distances. Here, again, an enemy might intro- 
duce serious interference, for it is said to be 
possible that an apparatus adjusted for short 
distances can be burned out or seriously de- 
ranged by receiving upon it the waves from 
another apparatus of much higher power. 

Wireless telegraphy is as yet almost a failure 
overland. Mountains, hills, forests, and tall 
buildings seem to break up the waves and make 
them unintelligible. Coast stations are, there- 
fore, established on prominent headlands, like 
Montauk Point, Cape Cod, and Cape Elizabeth, 
where there are no outlying islands to seaward. 

but wireless telegraphy can fill is that of com- 
munication with vessels at sea. Our govern- 
ment, with its usual enterprise, seems alive to 
this, and the wireless telegraphy has undoubtedly 
come into the navy to stay and to grow in use- 
fulness and importance. Its commercial appli- 
cation over the seas is already vast. We have 
been accustomed to feel that when loved ones 
went out upon the great deep they passed, for 
the time being, beyond our knowledge and be- 
yond reach of our sympathy, and became im- 
prisoned in a realm of danger from which no 
cry for help or assurance of safety could reach 
us. Now, through this wonderful invention, we 
may learn their progress from day to day, even 
from hour to hour. They can tell us of their 
daily health ; they can transact matters of daily 
business; they can assure us that they are 
speeding over sunny seas; or they can ask, 
when in distress, that a vessel be sent to their 

All this is possible, and is practised even now, 
in these earliest stages of wireless development, 
not only on some of the naval vessels of various 






These imperfections make wireless telegraphy 
at present chiefly useful in communicating with 
isolated places having no other telegraph ; but 
we must remember that when the telegraph and 
telephone first came into use they were in many 

nations, but also on many of the great trans- 
oceanic passenger liners, and we cannot doubt 
that the present confusing and amusing im- 
perfections will be, in time, completely over- 

Count Geoffrey's 

By Caroline K. Hf.rrick.* 

One autumn morning of a far-away time, in 
the fair land of Anjou, Gaspard, the charcoal- 
burner, was setting out from his humble cottage 
in the forest. 

" Farewell, good wife," he said cheerily. " I 
am off for another day's work." 

" Ay, another day's work, to earn but just 
another day's bread," replied the wife, sadly. 
" While we eat each day all the earnings of 
the day before, how shall we ever begin to save 
for Babette's marriage portion ? " 

" The child is scarce six years old," said the 
father. " She will not marry next week." 

" Neither shall we begin to save for her next 
week, nor next year, nor ever, I fear," answered 
his wife. 

" Have faith in God," said Gaspard. " It 
may please him to make us rich before the 
child is grown." 

That evening the wife waited in vain for 
her husband's return. At midnight she barred 
the door and lay down to a sleepless night, 
haunted by dread of calamity. 

But morning brought her husband back, with 
a strange jingle of gold in his pouch and on his 
lips a wondrous tale of having guided a knight 
out of the forest and to the castle of Loches, 
where the knight proved to be none other than 
the lord of the land, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, 
who graciously caused his peasant guide to be 

seated beside him at table, entertained him as an 
honored guest, and dismissed him on the mor- 
row with a reward for his services that would 
have paid him for six months' work at the kiln. 
" Heaven be praised ! " cried the wife, when 
she saw the gold pieces. " We are rich ! Let 
us buy a flock of geese, and lay aside the price 
of every tenth goose for Babette." 

In the edge of the forest, when spring had 
returned and the yellow bloom was brightening 
all the country-side, a small maiden sat singing 
to herself as she wove a garland of the gay 

" I am a queen," she sang. " This is my 
golden crown." 

She pressed it down on her dark hair, then 
sat stiffly upright, her feet close together and 
hands crossed before her — the right holding a 
long wand of which she had made use in a recent 
contest with a morose-looking gray goose that 
waddled about near by, trailing one wing on the 

A young knight came riding along the forest 
road. At sight of the quaint little figure he 
smiled and reined in his horse before her, while 
the gray goose lurched toward him with ex- 
tended neck, hissing. 

" Good day, little maid," said the knight, 
" thou art like a queen on her throne." 

Vol. XXXI. 


See note in Letter Box, page 286. 


2 5 8 



" I am a queen," the child replied in all 
seriousness. " This is my golden crown." 

" And what is thy name, little queen ? " he 

" I am Gaspard's Babette," she answered. 
" What is thy name ? " 

" I am Foulque's Geoffrey," he replied, with 
a smile. 

" Art thou lost ? " she asked. 

" Nay, little one," he replied. 

" Ah, what a pity ! " sighed the child. " It 
is weary waiting for some one to get lost." 

" And why dost thou want some one to get 
lost ? " 

" Because," she answered, " they would ask 
me of the way ; and I should show them how 
to get out of the wood " (it was but a stone's- 
throw from the highway), " and they would take 
me to the castle and show me wonderful things 
and give me money to bring home." 

" Ah, I see," said the knight. " Is thy father 
the good man who guided the count out of the 
forest ? " 

She nodded her head. 

" My father says it was like fairyland at the 
castle. He brought back so much money that 
we are quite rich now. We have a flock of 
geese. I watch them in the meadow." 

" I see but one goose ; and this is not the 
meadow," said the knight, somewhat puzzled. 

" I am here to-day," said the child, "because 
this fiery old gray goose pecked the little white 
goose that I love — she is so gay; and I pun- 
ished the old one with a stick and " — she hung 
her head and spoke very low — "I broke her 
wing. So my father says I shall no longer keep 
the flock, but only the gray goose, until her 
wing is well and I have learned wisdom." 

" And when will that be ? " he asked. 

" Her wing will be well next week," said 

" Wilt thou have learned wisdom by that 
time ? " 

" I have learned," she answered. " I shall 
use a thinner stick next time." 

" Art not thou lonely here, with only the 
gray goose for company ?" asked the knight. 

"Yes," she replied, "since no one gets lost 
in the forest. I would that some one might 
come to play with me." Then, eying him 

critically, she added, " Wilt thou stay and play 
with me ? " 

" For a little while," he agreed. " What shall 
we play ? " 

" Thou shalt be king and I queen," she said. 
" I will make thee a crown like mine." 

The knight looked in dismay at the bristling 
yellow garland that encircled her head like a 
halo, and suggested that a smaller one would do 
for him : "Just one branch for a plume of gold." 

She pulled a branch from a bush and offered 
it to him. " Thou must crown me," he said. 
" Canst thou stand on my foot to reach up ? " 

She kicked off her wooden shoes and, by the 
help of his hand, clambered up and stood with 
her two small feet resting on his foot and the 
stirrup, her left hand clinging to a tuft of the 
horse's mane, while she arranged the broom in 
his cap. 

" Thou art my lady," he said, as he lifted his 
head with its golden plume, " and I shall wear 
thy colors in the lists at the Whitsuntide tour- 
ney at Chinon." 

" Dost thou live so far away as Chinon ? " 
she asked in a tone of regret. 

" Sometimes," he answered. " But now I am 
living at Loches. Wilt thou come with me and 
see my home ? " 

" Canst thou show me the castle too ? " she 
asked eagerly. 

" Thou shalt see it," he promised. " Get thy 
shoes and climb up before me." 

" Thou must take the gray goose, too," she 
said. " My father would be angry if I left it 

" If I must, I must," said the knight, laugh- 
ing, and he held the flapping creature under 
one arm while the other lifted the child to the 
saddle-bow ; then he placed the goose on her 
knees, and she threw both arms across its back, 
while, with the same strong hand that held the 
child against his breast, he grasped the goose's 
writhing neck to prevent the vicious pecks with 
which it assailed the horse. 

As they emerged from the shadowy wood 
upon the sunny highway, the knight looked down 
into the happy little face lying upon his bosom, 
at the hissing, struggling bird, and asked him- 
self, " What would my good wife the Empress 
Matilda say could she see me in this plight ? " 




To six-year-old Babette everything in the 
world was still so new that nothing was sur- 
prising ; so it was only a part of the beautiful 
story, and no marvel, to discover that her kind 
playfellow was no other than the Count of 
Anjou himself, and the great castle his home. 


On their arrival, the gray goose — in spite of 
indignant quacks and hisses — was crowded 
into a huge basket with a bountiful supply of 
corn and a pan of water, and Babette was sent 
to Dame Agnes, wife of the castellan, with a 
request that the little peasant should be made 

ready to sit with the count at the dinner that 
would soon be served. 

When the child was led into the great hall at 
the dinner-hour, her face shone from the scrub- 
bing it had received, her wind-blown hair hung 
in smooth braids, drawn forward over each 
shoulder. Here the 
improvements ceased. 
There were no chil- 
dren in the castle 
whose clothes could 
be lent to Babette, no 
shoes small enough tor 
her feet; so, since 
wooden shoes were 
quite out of the ques- 
tion, she pattered 
across the pavement 
of the hall on bare 
feet, whose little pink 
toes showed beneath 
the scant gown that 
Dame Agnes had tried 
her best, but in vain, to 

" May I have these 
things ? " Babette 

asked, looking with 
wide eyes of wonder 
at the dainty food that 
was placed before her. 
The count nodded as- 
sent. Selecting a roll 
of wheaten bread and 
a small meat-pie, she 
prepared to crowd 
them into the bosom 
of her dress. " I will 
take them to my mo- 
ther," she said, with a 
happy smile. 

" Eat them, little 
one," said the count, 
"and thou shalt have 
more to take to thy mother " ; and the roll and 
the pie were set down again upon the table. 

" Thou must have something to take home 
for thyself," said the count ; and, unclasping a 
chain of gold from his neck, he threw it about 
the child's shoulders. " It is my marriage gift 




to thee," he said; "and mayst thou find a 
good lad for a husband." 

" Nay," Babette protested ; " I shall not 
marry a boy ! I like not boys. They are 
rough and pull my hair. If I must marry, I 
shall marry Michel's Cecile. She is good and 
gentle, and I love her." 

" Possibly thou mayst change thy mind be- 
fore thou art grown," said the count, smiling. 

After dinner Count Geoffrey led the prattling 
child by the hand all through the castle, even 
up the narrow, winding stair to the roof of the 
Black Count's grim tower, from which she saw 
more of the world than she had ever seen be- 
fore : the town of Loches, covering the slope 
of the hill below ; the sunny plain, with 
the silver ribbon of the Indre flow- 
ing smoothly northward to join 
the swifter current of the Loire ; 
to the eastward Beaulieu, with 
its stately abbey and rich fan 
lands ; to the westward the dark 
forest, stretching al- 
most to Chinon, forty 
miles away. 

" Ah, but it is beau- 
tiful — more beautiful 
than my father told ! " 
exclaimed the child. 

" Wouldst thou like 
to stay here and play 
with my little lads, 
when my squire brings 
them home a week 
hence ? " asked the 

" Nay," replied Ba- 
bette. " I like not 
boys. I had rather "after 
play with thee. Thou 
art as gentle as Cecile, and I 
she laid her round cheek in 
hand which she held. 

" But now I must go home, 
in when the sun gets as low as 
will be looking for me." 

" It grieves me to let thee 

love thee "; and 
the palm of the 

I drive the geese 
this. My mother 

go, child," said 

the count. Instead of leading her down the 
turret stair, he lifted her in his arms and car- 
ried her tenderly down to the castle court. The 
most trusty of his men-at-arms was called to 
carry her to her home. The gray goose made 
the journey in a basket, and there was another 
basket filled with good 
! things from the castle 
I larder. As the count 
lifted Babette to the 
saddle, he said warn- 
ingly : 

" Have a care of thy 
chain, my child; it is 
precious. Let thy mo- 
ther keep it for thee 
against thy wedding- 
day. Perchance harm 
might come to thee, for 
its sake, shouldst thou 
wear it in the meadow 
or the forest. Fare- 
well, little Babette. 
Thou art a sweet play- 

He stood looking 
after her, and not until 
she had waved a last 
farewell as she passed 
through the outer gate 
did he turn back into 
his somber castle, mut- 
tering to himself: 

" I would I had a 
little maid like that!" 
As he threw his cap 
upon a table, his eye 
fell upon the faded 
blossoms of the broom 
that Babette had stuck 
there. " I will keep my promise to her and wear 
it," he said; " not alone at the tourney, but al- 
ways. It shall be my crest. What care I for the 
rose of misty England ! Henceforth my house 
shall be known as the house of Plantagenet, 
after Planta genesta, the golden blossom of my 
own sunny Anjou ! " 



By Annie Willis McCullough. 

I like the merry winter-time, with jolly ice and snow; 

I like to pelt the little girls with snowballs as they go ; 

I like to see them dodge and run, and hear them squeal in dread ; 

I like to push them into drifts and scrub their faces red. 

But say, this is n't nice a bit ! I 've had about enough. 
The winter is no fun at all when girls will play so rough ! 



By Albert Bigelow Paine. 

"That 's Jack out there with the carriage! 
Jack 's my papa! 

" I call him Jack because my mama used to 
call him that, an' she used to laugh when I 
called him that, too. 

" Miss Isabel says I may call him Papa 
Jack, if I want to. 

" Mama 's dead. She was sick ev-er so long, 
an' Jack an' me took care of her. 

" Jack did n't work while mama was sick. 
He had to stay at home an' help me take care 
of mama. Then, when mama died an' went 
to heaven, Jack said he did n't have any work, 
an' must go an' find some. 

" Jack cried when mama went away, an' so 
did I. 

" Course Jack could n't leave me at home 
alone, so he put on my little plaid overcoat an' 
cap that mama made me, an' then I took his 
hand, an' we walked cv-er so far. We went 
into ever so many places, too, an' everybody 
said ' no ' when Jack talked to them, an' some 
of them were cross. When they was n't, Jack 
an' me stayed a little while to get warm. 

" I got hungry by an' by, an' Jack bought 
me a nice sausage an' a roll of a man, an' I ate 
it all up. Jack did n't eat any, because he 
was n't hungry. 

" Then we walked, an' went into 'bout a 
hundred more places ; but there was n't any 
work anywhere. So then we went home 
again, an' Jack said he guessed we did n't need 
two chairs any longer. So we took the rocking- 
chair that mama used to sit in round to the 
same man that bought our bureau an' table 
when mama died, an' the man gave Jack some 
money. Then we bought some coal an' milk 
an' a loaf of bread. Jack let me carry the 
bread, an' did n't scold when I dropped it 
going upstairs. 

"Then we made a fire, an' Jack warmed the 
milk, an' put my high-chair up by the stove 
so I could eat an' be warm, too. An' I had 

bread an' milk, an' Jack had some of the 
bread, but he did n't want any milk, 'cause he 
said he 'd heard milk was n't good for grown- 
up folks. Then we went to bed, so we could 
take a fresh start in the morning, Jack said. 


" I had the rest of the bread an' milk when 
we got up. Jack said he 'd heard breakfast 
was n't good for grown folks, either, so he 
did n't eat any. Then we went out an' 
walked again, an' asked people an' people for 
work, an' they all said ' no' ; an' I had another 
sausage an' roll, an' I gave Jack the bottom 
crust of the roll where it was burnt. By an' 
by we went home again 'cause I was tired, an' 
we went around past the chair-man's, an' the 
chair-man came home with us, an' took our 
bedstead, 'cause Jack said the house would 




be nice an' empty to play in without it, an' across the street, an' would n't let her, an' said 

that we 'd make our bed on the floor so it I must n't bother ladies when they wanted to 

would n't hurt me if I fell out. catch their car. 

" Then we walked about a hundred days ; " But they did n't want their car very bad, I 

an' everybody was busy buying -Christmas guess, for they let some more go by, an' talked 

things an' kep' saying ' no,' ' no,' ' no,' till Jack to Jack ; an' they said they had some work, if 

said he did n't believe anybody ever said 'yes ' Jack would come to their house. So they 

any more at all. An' then I said that mama wrote it down on a piece of paper for Jack, 

used to say ' yes ' to me sometimes when I an' Jack an' me got on a car an' rode, an' 

asked for things, an' maybe other ladies would came here an' helped take care of the horses, 

say '-yes,' too. An' just then I saw two lov- An' that was two years ago, Jack says. An' 

elly ladies across the street waiting for the we 've got, oh, such a lot of horses! an' Jack 

car. lets me ride on the big black one sometimes, 

" So I let go of Jack's hand an' ran over to because he 's old an' gentle. An' Miss Isabel — 

them, an' asked them if they had any work, she 's the lov-elly young lady — -she teaches me 

An' one of them was a young lady like my mama lessons; an' her mama she bought me some 

was, an' the other one was an old lady like my clothes an' some shoes, an' I hang up my 

gran'mama in the album. An' they let the car stockin' every Christmas. 

go by, an' asked me what 's my name an' " An' Jack an' me live in a nice place up over 
where I lived. An' I told them about my the horses. I have a little bed to sleep in, an' 
mama, an' about Jack an' me walking <?^-er so Jack has a big bed ; an' Jack went to the chair- 
many days, an' how everybody kep' saying, man an' bought the rocking-chair again that 
'no,' 'no,' 'no,' an' about Jack not being mama used to sit in. Jack eats breakfast now, 
hungry, an' milk not being good for grown-up too, so I guess that was n't so what he heard 
folks, nor breakfast either. about it 's not being good for grown-up folks. 

" An' then the lov-elly old lady was going to " That 's Jack out there with the carriage! 
give me some money ; but just then Jack came "Jack 's my papa! " 


By A. Fitch, Jr. 

" Good morning, dear. So sorry that 
Your hands are in the dough. 
We 're out sleigh-riding in the park, 
And hoped that you could gough." 

" Ah, fairyland ! What sprites have wrought 
With snow and ice and bough ! 
I 'm sure the park has never looked 
So beautiful as nough. 

: Oh, never mind ! Of Lakeside Park 

I never see enough. 
Please wait a moment, and I '11 get 
My hat, and cape, and mough. 

My cough ? Well, really, I believe 
I 've just a little hiccough, 

Which somehow in the morning's spin 
I have contrived to piccough. 

" I think I '11 take my boa, too ; 
I 've something of a cough. 
I '11 leave the bread this time for Nell. 
And now at last I 'm ough. 

Oh, dear, the morn has quickly passed ! 

Too soon, it seems, we 're through. 
Best thanks for a delightful time. 

Adiough, my friends, adiough." 

Nature snd Science /^Y'urigr Folks 

Edited byE4«i>r-J E Bigel°w. 

Fortunately, it sometimes happens that there is considerable snow and a firmly frozen river in December, and 
then the typical thaw terminates with a midwinter freshet, often disastrous, it is true, but sure to open up a 
charming new world to the outdoor naturalist. 

Along the nver, and in every pent valley of the smaller creeks, is enacted an exciting drama. — Dr. Charles 
C. Abbott in " Days Out of Doors." 

THE JANUARY THAW. j s often cloudy, and so misty and cloudy that 

There is not always a " thaw " in January, the ground seems to steam. The snow that 
nor do all spring-like days in winter come in may have fallen two or three weeks ago is nearly 
January. As the old- 
fashioned almanacs 
would put it, scat- 
tering the words 
down the page for 
January : About — 
this — time — expect 
— several — warm — 
days. Even if the 
"about this time" 
were the last of Feb- 
ruary, the country 
people would regard 
it as "our January 
thaw, only about 
a month late this 
year ! " The first 
of these warm days 






'*0T*^ ■ 


Two of the many forms of 


all melted. Then how slushy it is! — how "disagreeable get- 
ting about," the older folks would say. But to Howard, in 
new rubber boots, going to and fro from house to barn, 

there is a fasci- 
nation in wad- 
ing through the 





soft mixture. 

Indeed, it is 
evident that 
all young folks 
know how to make the best of many things that 
older persons call disagreeable. Some one has 
said that " everything is fish that comes to 
the net of the naturalist," meaning that the 
naturalist takes an interest in all that he ob- 
serves in nature. And everything seems to be 
fun that comes within the experience of the 
young folks, because they see only the bright 
side of life. 

Not only the boys, but the geese, enjoy such 
wading. At the edge of a pool they search for 
the grass that the protecting blanket of snow 

Vol. XXXI.— 34-35. 




may have kept fresh and green — 
a bit of spring in midwinter. 

On such a warm day as this 
the brook looks like a battle-field 
where have struggled the forces 
of heat and cold. Blocks of ice 
lie broken and crushed beside the 
plunging, foaming water. In this 
ravine we find spring strangely 
intermingled with winter. Rush- 
ing down the brook are miniature 
icebergs, and bordering its banks 
are panoramas of arctic ice-fields. 
Yet on the hillside the grass peeps 
green above the snow. In a small 
branch of the brook is the water- 
cress which Thoreau observed on 
a midwinter day, " as green as 
ever, waving in the stream as in 

If we follow this little branch 
to its source we shall find a spring 
by which is the stitchwort with 
its frost-bitten but wide-opened buds. Here is 
summer indeed, strangely mixed with winter! 

A similar mingling of autumn bloom with 
midwinter surroundings is afforded by the 


Other examples of apparently delicate crea- 
tures which are brought conspicuously into 
view by these warm days are the snow-fleas, 
the winter or "mourning-cloak" butterflies 
( Vanessa antiopa), and the hedgehog-caterpil- 
lar. Of these snow-fleas, the reader will recall 
that one of our correspondents* recently wrote : 

" I noticed in the footprints and in the 
snow little black specks that I thought were 
soot. ... I could have gathered them up by 
the cupful at a time." 

The mourning-cloak, or " thaw " butterflies, 
as Gibson calls them, are apparently as happy 
now as they will be on the warm days of 
spring. And the hedgehog-caterpillar is hur- 

* 7>< 


witch-hazel, with its feathery yellow flowers, as 
beautiful as in late autumn, but they now seem 
weird and uncanny as they cling to leafless 
twigs. Autumn as well as spring seems to say, 
" You can't wholly overcome me, old winter." 

* See the letter, comment, and illustrations, page 556 of Nature and Science for April, 1902 





rying along as usual, perhaps even faster, seem- 
ing to say, " I must have a good time before 
the cold stiffens me out again. So here goes 
for a bit of exercise to warm my blood." 

Our dandelion, of which a few specimens 
can be found blooming in every month in the 
year, looks especially bright-eyed and golden 
during this warm spell as it peers out of the 
grasses and the weeds. 

The leaves of the crowfoot, shepherd's-purse, 
and clover are of an especially bright green. 
The naturalist Thoreau even maintained, as we 
have said, that the watercress is at least more 
noticeably green in winter than in summer. To 
quote again from him : " Is not this the plant 
which most, or most conspicuously, preserves 
its greenness in the winter? " 

Willow twigs have a peculiarly beautiful tint 
on a warm, moist day in winter. Note also the 
brighter colors of the mosses and lichens, es- 
pecially those growing on the bark of trees. 

The bank of earth not grassed over, but 
with a crown of trees and shrubs, is especially 
interesting in a thaw. On the south side of 
such a bank the birds find a cozy home 
among the projecting roots or under the mass 
of smaller growths of twigs and stems. 

The trickling water from the thawing soil 
makes a chart on the bank, and shows us 
how the streams start at the top as if from 
springs, this combining with that to make each 
a little larger, till several form what we may 
easily fancy to be miniature rivers, whose rapid 
flow digs ravines, hollows caves, and tosses 
sand into heaps, the whole being, to the geolo- 
gist, an example, on a small scale, of what the 
forces of nature in ages past have done to the 


The children and their teacher were off for 
a tramp in the woods, where each brown tree- 
trunk showed plainly against the background 
of snow. Suddenly Richard, who had gone 
ahead, shouted to the rest, " I have found the 
queerest tree with two trunks! " and the whole 
party hurried to the spot. Beside the path they 
found two small red oaks that after several 
feet of separate growth had united into one tree. 

" It looks like a tree on stilts," declared 
Alice ; " but how did it get two trunks? " 

Alfred, who had been studying it carefully, 
said, " There were two trees, and that knot 
above the spot where they have joined shows 
that one top died after the trunks grew to- 

" Both trunks are alive now," said Richard, 
who had been testing them with his pocket-knife. 

Then the teacher explained that originally 
one tree branched, and the other, leaning in 
that direction, rested in this crotch, and a small 
branch above the crotch held the trunk se- 
curely. That is to say, one trunk grew between 
two small branches of the other tree. As these 

' \ jM 

. ;»' #, 

i ,:>> " ^ 


I -i'W 



f : - 

/ '"^Ij 


branches increased in size they held the bark 
of one trunk against the other as firmly as if 
they were clamped in a vise, so that one tree 
grafted naturally into the other. In time the 
top of one trunk and the small branches died, 
leaving this odd and puzzling growth. 








"What is grafting? " asked Alice, and the 
teacher replied : " In spring the gardener places 
a cutting of one improved variety of fruit-tree 
into a cleft made in the branch of another va- 
riety, making sure that the bark of the cutting 
joins that of the branch, so that sap can flow 
freelv from one to the other. In time branch 
and cutting become fine limb, but the cutting 
determines the kind of fruit." 

W. C. Knowles. 


Dame Nature sometimes does queer and 
interesting things by chance. We have noted in 
the foregoing article that by chance she grafted 
two trees together. We have also from time 

to time noted the 
surprising resem- 
blances of rocks 
and ledges to hu- 
man faces or to 
animals. Now, 

through the cour- 
tesy of Mr. George 
H. Daniels, we 
show a photograph 
of a tree on whose 
trunk is a knotty 
growth closely re- 
sembling the figure 
of a climbing bear. 
This strange for- 
mation is in a for- 
est on the borders 


in Sullivan County, 

(By permission of the " Four-Track 

News.") New i ork. 

fruit heads of the sycamore. 

Colchester, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I found two queer little things 
on the ground yesterday. The girls who were with me 
did not know what they were, so I thought I would 
send them to you. What is the little hard thing in- 
side ? Yours very truly, 

Minnie R. Bigf.low. 

The specimens you sent are the fruiting 
heads of the buttonball or sycamore tree 


[Platauus occidentalis). Look for the large tree 
near by, and for the fluffy heads, about an inch 
in diameter, that remain on the tree through 
the winter. They hang by slender stems from 
three to six inches long. These seeds have a 
cottony attachment by which they are scattered 
abroad by the winds, especially in March or 
later in the spring. The seeds are packed 





in large fluffy masses, endwise, closely around 

a hard ball in the center. 

The spherical 
balls of the liquid 
amber or sweet- 
gum tree are about 
the same size, and 
hang by slender 
stems of about the 
same length. These 
seeds are usually 
imperfect, shriveled 

up, and packed as if with sawdust in the holes. 

These are easily shaken out by the wind or in 

falling, so that usually there is nothing in the 

seed cavities of these balls as we find them on 

the ground under the tree. 

can animals hypnotize? 

Columbia House, Kennebunkport, Me. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I want to know if hawks have 
any power of hypnotism over smaller birds, as snakes are 
claimed to have. My friend and I were taking a walk, 
when we saw a hawk light on a telegraph pole. In a 
few minutes a sparrow came by. The hawk looked at it, 
and it seemed unable to fly any farther, but alighted on 
the wire about five feet in front of the hawk. All the 
time it was chirping pitifully. It would fly around and 
around the hawk, but the hawk kept its eyes on it, and 
the bird could not get away. My friend then threw a 
stone at the hawk, and it started to fly away. The little 
bird followed it, and suddenly the hawk turned and 
chased it. It would swoop and make little dives at the 
bird, but would not actually hurt it. Will you please 
answer this in the next St. Nicholas ? 
Your loving reader, 

Doris Newberry. 

The question whether some animals have the 
power to hypnotize others is largely a mat- 
ter of opinion. My own view is that there is 
no such thing as hypnotism among animals. 
There undoubtedly is fear-paralysis, which 
might easily be called hypnotism ; but I do not 
think it belongs in that class of phenomena. 
Human beings are at times as much subject to 
fear-paralysis as are birds that are attacked by 
dangerous serpents. Paralysis from fear is a 
very different thing from hypnotic influence. 
Hypnotism is always exercised by the surren- 
der of the mental faculties to the will of the 
operator. Fear, on the other hand, often pro- 
duces complete paralysis of the voluntary mus- 

cles, and also of the brain, by a process which 
I consider entirely different. — W. T. Horna- 
day, Director New York Zoological Park. 


Dear St. Nicholas : Can you tell me what silver- 
paper is made of ? I was playing with some of it this 
morning, rolling it into little balls, and I was surprised to 
see that it marked a piece of white paper like lead. I 
twisted it into a point, and found that I could write with 
it, though not very well. Then I heated some in an 
old spoon over the gas-jet, and it melted. I dropped it 
into cold water, and it hardened into a substance verv 
much like lead. I am very much interested in the Na- 
ture and Science department. 

Yours truly, HELEN CODY. 

Tinfoil is usually made of a mixture of lead 
and tin. For some purposes the tin is not 
mixed in, but is merely a coating on one or 
both sides of a very thin sheet of lead. 

It was one of my favorite amusements in 
boyhood days to melt tinfoil and pour it into 
water. Each lot will assume its own peculiar 
form. Thus I well recall one lot that became 
little jockey-caps ; others formed spears, stars, 
plumes, etc. A common form is the dagger, 
as in the accompanying illustration. 





FLYING-FISH. finally he was conquered, and was borne home in tri- 

ClNCINNATI, Ohio. umph. He is a very patriotic crab. The tips of his 

Dear St. Nicholas : On our way home from atrip claws are a lobster red, higher up a pretty color of blue, 

to Cuba, from the steamer I saw some flying-fish. As 


.;. ., . . . 



much as I could see of them, they were blue, and all of 
a sudden they would jump out of the water, spread 
their wings, fly for a little while, then dive down again. 
1 remain, Your loving reader, 

Helen Greexe (age 11). 

The flight of flying-fishes has been much 
discussed by naturalists. It may be said, how- 
ever, that these fish do not really fly, but rather 
" shoot 

and his body white. His shell is a dull greenish blue. 
We would like to know what food to give him, for he 
seems to eat nothing. And our most important ques- 
tions are these: Do fish go to sleep? And if they do, 
how is it accomplished? Do they lie down low in the 
water, or on the surface? 

We enjoy the St. Nicholas very much, and would 
like to receive answers to our questions in the Nature 
and Science department. 


Margaret W. Sargent. 

Mary W. Appletox. 

Fishes do not sleep in the ordinary sense of 
the term. They cannot close their eyes, be- 
cause they have nothing to close over them ; 
and if they lie down on the bottom they are apt 
to get sand in their eyes. To a certain degree 

out of the water by strong, rapid the y rest > some at ni S ht > and some P erha P s in 

the daytime, and this corresponds with what we 

know as sleep. 

If they used their minds more they would 

have more occasion for slumber. 

David Starr Jordan, 

President Leland Stanford Junior University, California. 


movements of the tail. Then while in the air it 
is not so much a matter of flight as of falling. 
The large pectoral fins have not the action of 
wings in propelling them forward, but of a 
parachute in sustaining them briefly in the air 
before they fall in a curve into the water again. 

crabs and fish. 

Wareham, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We 
are two cousins — Margaret 
and Mary. Margaret is ten, 
and I, Mary, am seventeen. 
We write to ask you a few 
questions about salt-water 
fish. We would also like to 
tell you a little about our 
aquarium. We have some 
minnows, several hermit- 
crabs, two eels, and a great 
many snails. It is very in- 
teresting to watch them. 
Yesterday a large crab was 
found clinging to the rudder 
of the rowboat. It was very 
difficult to remove him, but 

The salt-water crabs are scavengers, and 
feed upon various forms of dead animal matter. 
They are great fighters, but are also wily, 
often averting danger by resorting to stratagem. 
They are an interesting and curious group, as 
they possess a good degree of intelligence and 
have amusing habits. 





do schools of fish have leaders? 

Newport Beach, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We were at the beach last 
summer and did quite a little fishing from the wharf. 
The schools of fish were very thick around the wharf, 
especially the small fish such as sardines, smelt, and 
horse-mackerel. There have also been schools of 

I have been very interested to know if schools of fish 
have any leaders, so I thought I would write and ask 
you about it. 

Your very interested reader, 

Margery Wheei.ock. 

In answer to this letter, President David Starr 
Jordan, an eminent authority regarding the 
habits of fish, writes to the editor of Nature 
and Science as follows : 

To your young correspondent from Newport, Cali- 
fornia, you can say that around these beaches the sar- 


dines, yellowtail, and mackerel do not have, so far as I 
know, any particular leader. They swim along to- 
gether, going in and out, but without any organization 
that we know of. Certainly no single fish can be said 
to be in command. It would be difficult in most cases 
to identify the leader, if there was one, or to prove that 
it was the same fish. So far as I know, we have not 
found any case where any single fish is known to lead 
a school. With birds there seems to be some evidence 
of such leadership; some old bird experienced in the 
ways of the world and of the air goes on ahead, and 
the others follow. 

Dr. H. M. Smith, of the Bureau of Fisheries, 
Washington, D. C, writes: 

There is no evidence that schools of fish have leaders. 
The simultaneous movements of fish in a school depend 
on currents, tides, water temperature, food, enemies, 
and various other factors. 


Prizes for best sea-shore observations were 
awarded to Miss Dorothy A. Baldwin, " The 
Castle," Tarrytown-on-Hudson, New York, 
Miss Elizabeth A. Gest, Lambertville, New 
Jersey, and Miss Elizabeth Fuller, Exeter, New 



Camp Kunneway, Bear Island, N. H. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Can you give me a distinct 
difference between the hermit-thrush and the veery? 

Your interested reader 

Isabella Puffer. 

Frank M. Chapman's " Handbook " gives 
very clear and concise directions for distin- 
guishing these birds : 

Veery. — Throat and upper breast pale buffy, with 
small, cinnamon-brown, wedge-shaped spots ; belly 
pure white ; sides with a barely perceptible grayish wash. 

The veery's distinguishing characters are (1) its 
uniform cinnamon-brown upper parts; (2) its deli- 
cately marked breast ; and (3) particularly its almost 
white sides. The wood-thrush has the sides heavily 
spotted, and the other thrushes have this part more 
or less strongly washed with grayish or brownish. 

Hermit Thrush. — Upper parts olive -brown, some- 
times inclining to cinnamon ; upper tail coverts and 
tail rufous. 

The hermit-thrush may always be easily identified by 
its rufous tail. It is the only one of our thrushes 
which has the tail brighter than the back. 


It will also be helpful to remember that the 
song of the Wilson's thrush has been described 
as "a sweet wavering whistled w/iee-u." The 
hermit-thrush, it is claimed by some observers, 
has " a more exquisitely beautiful voice than 
any other American bird." 



BY ROBERT E. DUNDON, AGE l6. {Gold Badge.) 

Sighing hemlock, mourning pine, 
Gaunt and grim, a sentry line 
Set to bar the cold's advance, 
By the irony of chance 
Make our fireside joys complete 
With their yield of Christmas treat. 

But their brethren of the wood, 
Bearing winter's icy hood, 
Grieve like mortals stricken sore, 
Cast their shadows at our door 
On a waste of drifted snow, 
As they chant their plaint of woe. 

We within may take our ease, — 
Light and warmth are subtle keys 
To unlock the door of cheer, 
When no worries hover near, — 
Yet our neighbors of the wold 
Seem like comrades stout and bold. 

An'd so we are entering 
our fifth year! Four years 
ago this month we made 
our first League exhibit, 
and a very good one it was, 
considering it was our first. 
The editor, as well as many 
of our members, can still 
recall those clever drawings 
of " The Christmas Fire- 
place" and all the interest- 
ing poems and stories that 
did and did not get prizes. 
Nearly fifty months have 
slipped away since then, 
and a great many of our 
boys and girls who were 
eager and industrious mem- 
bers in that day of begin- 
ning are now grown men 
and women, some of them 
still writing, hand-drawing, 
and winning handsome 
"cash prizes" from the big 
magazines and newspapers, 
that are always ready to 
reward perseverance and 
industry, that, combined 
with a talent for the work 
undertaken, never fail to 
result in worthy effort. 

But there are a multitude 
of those early beginners 
who are still with the 
League, and some of them 
are just beginning now to 
win the prizes for which 
they have striven so faithfully and so Ion 
wishes that every member might know- 
makes him to award a prize to a boy or 


i- T 
a girl 

he editor 
happy it 
who has 

been persevering month 
after month for years, re- 
warded only by the joy of 
creative effort and the belief 
that each month brought im- 
provement and was one step 
nearer the goal. 

" I was so discouraged at 
times, but I am glad now 
that I persevered," is the 
sentiment expressed in 
scores of letters from these 
prize-winners. Not that 
the prize is the great re- 
ward, — that lies in the work 
itself, — but it is what the 
prize means — the point of 
progress that it represents. 
And how much more must 
it mean to those who have 
learned to progress little by 
little, step at a time, and 
who know when the prize 
comes that they have gained 
strength and knowledge to 
go on in steady advance- 
ment through all the un- 
covered years ! The League 
editor can speak from his 
heart to those who labor 
on, determined to win. He 
has known disappointment 
from month to month and 
from year to year, and he 
has known reward. And 
the rewards of the life of art 
and letters, however late 
they come, are worth all the struggle and the long years 
of waiting. There is no royal road to success. Some 
there are who seem born to the crown, and wear it from 



2 73 

the beginning. Often these do not prize it or wear it 
long. For those who must win it, there is but one way : 
to toil on step by step ; to never confess discouragement ; 

to never lo 

.e faith 

to never confess 
to never lose heart for the battle. 


That is their royal road. The League editor rejoices 
that so many brave boys and girls have found that royal 
path in the four years that have passed since he began 
to point the way. 


In making awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

Verse. Gold badges, Robert E. Dundon (age 16), 
1526 E. Oak St.,- New Albany, Inch, and Philip Stark 
(age 13), Sawkill, Pike Co., 

Silver badges, Marjorie Mar- 
tin (age 16), 216 Franklin Ave., 
Brooklyn, N. Y. , and Charles 
Irish Preston (age 10), 1322 
Fulton Ave., Davenport, la. 

Prose. Cash prize, Muriel 
M. K. E. Douglas (age 17), 
"Briardene," 29 Montague 
Rd., Chesterton, Cambridge, 

Gold badges, Katharine J. 
Bailey (age 13), Sta. A, Gard- 
ner, Mass., and Robert Walsh 
(age 13), 405 E. 4th St., New- 
port, Ky. 

Silver badges, Carolyn L. 
Palmer (age 14), 138 E. 6th St., 
Plainfield, N. J., and James J. 
Porter (age 12), 56 E. 67th St., 
New York City. 

Drawing. Cash prize, Edgar 
Daniels (age 17), 19 Golf St., 
Dayton, Ohio. 

Gold badge, H. B. Lachman (age 17), 882 Oakland 
Ave., Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Silver badges, Emilie C. Flagg (age 16), 11 Avon 
St., Cambridge, Mass., and Theodore L. Fitz Simons 
(age n), 55 Church St., Charleston, S. C. 

Photography. Gold badges, Wales C. 
Brewster (age 17), 17 Coe St., Waterbury, 
Conn., and Helen M. Wolf (age 13), 7 W. 
91st St., New York City. 

Silver badges, Catherine Douglas (age 15), 
509 Washington St., Arm Arbor, Mich., and 
Edwin Shoemaker (age 15), 201 1 Chestnut 
St., Philadelphia, Pa. 

Wild-animal and Bird Photography. First 
prize, "Adirondack Elk," by Kate Duryea 
Allin (age 17), 13th Ave. and 56th St., Brook- 
lyn, N. Y. Second prize, "Chicken Hawk," 
by Hester M. Conklin (age 15), 416 E. State 
St., Olean, N. Y. Third prize, " Blue Her- 
on," by H. John Hill (age 7), 1102 Grove St., 
Evanston, 111. 

Puzzle-making. Gold badges, Thruston 
Broun (age 15), Middleburg, Va., and Mary 
Dunbar (age 14), 1218 13th St., Altoona, Pa. 

Silver badges, Francis Wolle (age 14), 
Westmont, Johnstown, Pa., and Erna Klin- 
zing (age 11), 103 Hickory St., Rochester, 
N. Y. 

Puzzle-answers. Gold badges, Lillian 
Jackson (age 12), 1301 Franklin St., Wil- 
mington, Del., and Albert E. Stockton (age 
16), 22 Russell Ave., Watertown, Mass. 

Silver badges, Florence Guida Steele (age 
15), Robinson, 111., and Margaret C. Wilby 
(age 13), 897 3d Ave., Detroit, Mich. 



( Cash Prize. ) 

How often we say the word " its," and what a useful 
little word it is! — so handy that it is difficult to think 
how we could ever do without it. 

The first to introduce it to our language was Florio, 
in his " Worlde of Wordes," published in 1598. And it 
was used again in his translation of Montaigne in 1603. 






For many years afterward people were very reluctant 
to admit the new word into their vocabulary, although 
they had long, unconsciously, felt the want of it, espe- 
cially poets. 

There is not a single instance in our English Bible 
where " its" is used, "his" or " her" or "thereof" 
being put instead. The result was sometimes apt to 
be confusing; for instance, in the seventh chapter of 
Daniel, ninth verse, we read : 
" His throne was like the fiery 
flame, and his wheels as burning 

When the poet Chatterton 
brought out the writings which 
he declared to be those of a monk 
named Rowley (who lived early 
in the fifteenth century), no one 
of all his many critics who an- 
nounced the work to be a forgery 
noticed this line, 

" Life and all its goods I scorn," 

which at once stamped the poems 
as the work of a modern writer, 
although they were not at a loss 
for several other reasons. 

The writer Daniel, who died in 
1619, and Drayton, who died 
twelve years later, both shrank 
from using the new word — it has 
not been found in any of their 
productions ; while, coming down 
to more recent times, Lord Ma- 
caulay is said to have avoided "its" 
whenever possible. 

Throughout the whole of Shak- 
spere's plays "its" is only used 
fourteen times, in the " Winter's "action. 
Tale " no less than three times in 
twelve lines. To Spenser and Bacon "its 
tirely unknown 



{Gold Badge.) 
Through frost-pictured panes on a cold wintry 
I gaze at the valley below, 
And dream of the scene that before me is spread — 
A fairyland splendor of snow! 

The elm-trees are sparkling with jewels so bright, 
Like diamonds they glitter and shine ; 

The trees in the forest are laden with ice — 
Each hemlock, and maple, and pine. 

Their branches are drooping, but proudly they 

With glittering circlets now crowned, 
And tiny snow-crystals, while flake after flake 

Is fluttering down to the ground. 

A brightness outshining the pure, sunny morn — 

A weird transformation of light- 
Has wrapped every tree till it groans with the 

Of the soft, fleecy coverlet white. 

was en- 
Ben Jonson sometimes used it, but 
very rarely, and there is no mention of it in his " Gram- 
mar." Milton hardly ever wrote the word, though there 
are one or two examples of it in " Paradise Lost." 

Now all are asleep under blankets so warm, 

No longer the leaves to them cling; 
Their great branches sigh as the wind rushes by, 

And patiently wait for the spring. 



{Gold Badge.) 

How many people who use the 
word " porcelain " ever think of its 
derivation ? Long years ago, there 
lived on the florid southern shore 
of the Mediterranean Sea a wild 
tribe of the Ethiopian race, whose 
main sustenance was the fish that 
they caught in the sea or the spark- 
ling streams in the vicinity. 

As these simple folk were not of 
an adventurous nature, they were 
content with staying in their own 
pleasant little clime. Very few, 
indeed, had ever ventured in or 
even heard of the wondrous world 
which lay about them. If any of 
them had ever seen another part, 
his tale was regarded as rash folly 
or that he had dreamed it. 

Their children, not unlike the 
Indian papooses of our own coun- 
try, were fond of collecting the 
shells which were washed ashore 
by the tide. And as the majority 
of these that they found resembled 
swine, they called them porcelli, 
the diminutive of the Latin word 
parens, a pig. 

One day, when the entire nation 
was gathered together in the chief 
village to celebrate the festival dedicated to their prin- 
cipal god, two men (and, as I have heard, the same two 
who smuggled the silkworms across the Chinese border 
in a bamboo cane) entered the temple, a rude structure, 
and offered some chinaware to the king. He had never 




seen anything like this before. He was surprised and 
delighted, for in li is kingdom they had nothing but 
common earthenware and terra-cotta. When his little 
son saw it, he held up a shell and exclaimed, " I'orcel- 
lanus est!" (" It is like the porcelli!") 

Hence from this little boy's imagination comes the 
name of that beautiful translucent pottery which is the 
pride of many a housewife's heart. 



{Silvej- Badge.) 

Oh, gaunt, bare skeletons that stretch out arms 
To yonder fair dominion of the sky! 

With every passing gust ye wail aloud 
And ever raise one cry! 

And is it that ye weep for beauties lost — 
For summer's verdant foliage ye mourn ? 

Or do ye cry for heaven's gentle snow 
To cover ye, forlorn ? 


Or are ye calling for the spring to come, 
To scatter flowers far over hill and dale? 

Be comforted, ye giant sentinels! 
Did e'er spring fail ? 



{Gold Badge.) 

In concluding a letter to a friend we 
often write "Yours sincerely," and yet 
how many have ever paused to think what 
the word "sincere" originally meant, 
and how it became changed in its mean- 
ing ? This is the story. 

A great many years ago, a little town 
in Italy was very widely known, and its 
fetes were attended by thousands of peo- 
ple. This fame was entirely due to a 
certain kind of pottery made there, and 
the people came to the fetes in order to 
buy some of it, or, if they were not rich 
enough to buy, at least they might see 
and admire. 

The process of making it was known 
to one man only, and he concealed the 
knowledge from the prying eyes of all 
the world. 

So much was made that the man be- 
came rich. Unfortunately, his riches 
made him miserly, and one day he tried 
an experiment, putting a little wax into 




the material, which, of course, made it cheaper to 

No harm was done by the small quantity put in, and 
seeing this, the dishonest man added more each time. 

At last he went a little too far in his deceit. He had 
substituted a great deal of wax, and was probably prid- 
ing himself on his cunning, when in came an angry 

Their conversation is not recorded, unfortunately, 
for it must have been interesting. 

The dishes had been placed near a hot fire, and, a 
greater part being wax, had melted, much to the 
woman's astonishment and dismay. 

After that, of course, people were exceedingly cau- 
tious with all dealers, and each dish, before the thrifty 
housewives would buy it, had to be examined by com- 
petent judges and stamped on the back "sine cera " 
— without wax. 

After a little the two words were short- 
ened into one, "sincere," which was 
stamped on the pottery. 

When many years had elapsed the 
word began to be used in a different 
sense. People finally did not think of 
the meaning " without wax," but rather 
genuine or true, and so the word has 
come down to us at the present time. 



{Silver Badge.) 

The trees stand out against the sky ; 
Their bare limbs creak and groan and 

As passing gusts sweep through the 

Where goldenrod majestic stood, 
Or tiny wild flowers hid away 
When spring and summer held full sway. 

These things are but asleep beneath 
The snow that covers wood and heath ; 
And when the whir of many a wing 
Shall herald the return of spring, 
From slumber roused, they, multiplied, 
Will spread their beauty far and wide. 





Have you heard, in the heart of winter, 

When the storm beats at the door, 
The sound of the wet wind singing 

And the fretful tempest's roar? 
Have you heard the loose boughs creaking, 

And the rattle of dry dead leaves, 
And the musical drip of the rainfall, 

And the singsong drone in the eaves? 

'T is the music played by the storm-wind bands, 
While the ice-edged shade-trees clap their hands! 



Many words have very interesting histories, particu- 
larly those derived from Latin and Greek words. These 
often have entirely different meanings now from the 

original ones, 
but they are 
usually asso- 




ciated with the first meanings. Many times their sig- 
nificance has changed gradually and imperceptibly, until 
now they have quite long histories. 

" Cynosure " is a good example of this kind of words, 
since its meaning has changed considerably during the 
hundreds of years since it was a part of the Greek lan- 

(A Former Prize-winner. ) 

Have you heard, in the heart of winter, 

The sound of a mighty shout 
And a strange, strange burst of music 

In the far-away dark without? 
Have you listened with pulses throbbing 

To the sounds of wondrous things — 
The creak of the living branches 

And the flutter of frightened wings? 

'T is the music played by the storm-wind bands, 
And the ice-clad shade-trees clap their hands! 


age 14. (Silver Badge.) 

guage. Its original form was Kvvooovpa, which meant 
" dog's tail." It referred especially to the constellation 
called the Little Bear, or the tail of the Great Bear, 
Ursa Major. This contains the pole-star, by which 
mariners guided their ships. Of course, in order to do 
this, they had to watch the Cynosure a great deal, and 
so on this account it has 
come to have its present 
meaning — the object of at- 
tention, or the center of at- 

To me " cynosure" sug- 
gests even more than the 
story of its derivation, since 
the first time I ever noticed 
it particularly and found out 
its exact meaning was when 
I read Milton's " L'Alle- 
gro. " Now, whenever I see 
it, it reminds me at first of 
the lovely description of an 
English country landscape 
in which it is used ; n this 
poem, and that in turn re- 
calls the whole poem, with 
all its beautiful sights and 
sounds. For this reason 
the word is a little fairy 
who holds the key of the 
most wonderful poems I 
have ever read, — those of 
Milton, — for it even has the 
power of bringing others 
besides " L'Allegro" before 
my mind. 



Deep lie the snow-drifts, 
The emblems of purity; 
Low bend the trees o'er the icy stone wall. 




The wind has free will, 
The squirrel security, 
Tn the snow-laden pine-trees, so grand and so tall. 

The oak-trees' branches 

Are ice-covered yet, 
And crackle and bend o'er the cold frozen stream ; 

The gray darkened sky 

Gives no sign of sunset, 
And the leaves 'neath the snow-drifts care only to dream. 



Through the slumbering forest 

The winter winds sweep, 
And moan in the branches, so dreary, so cold. 

Softly the night falls ; 

The earth 's wrapped in sleep ; 
'T is the same old winter— the same trees of old. 



{Silver Badge.) 

I HAVE chosen as my subject the word " car. " Some 
time ago, while preparing my lesson in Caesar, I noticed 
the word carries, and this furnished me with a subject 
for my composition. 

Among the old Celts— called by the Romans Gauls — 
who in ancient times dwelt in what is now France, there 
was a word meaning wagon or cart, namely, cam. The 
Romans had no word for the Gallic two-wheeled carts ; 
therefore they simply Latinized the Celtic word earn; 
causing it to become carrus. When the Roman soldiers 
conquered Gaul, they forced their language, slightly 
modified, upon the inhabitants, and thus the word re- 
turned to those from whom it was borrowed in its orig- 
inal form, cam. 

When the Normans conquered England they brought 
with them the language now called Old French; and 
along through the middle ages cam continued un- 
changed, until at length the final re was dropped, and 
we have our word " car." 

This word, however, does not usually mean a cart, 
but rather a vehicle that is propelled by machinery or 
one that goes on rails. Our word " cart " conies through 
a different source, being the old Celtic word used by the 
Anglo-Saxons, with a t added, and thus it enters our 
language through the Saxons instead of going through 
Latin and P'rench, as did "car," though both were origi- 
nally from the same word. 



In winter-time the trees have lost 

Their foliage, and 't is sometimes said 

The summer's enemy, the frost, 

Takes their bright life and leaves them dead. 

It is not so; the trees still live, 

Though not till spring their sap will thrill ; 

They only sleep, and, sleeping, give 
Their beauties to the landscape still. 

Some clays in winter we may see 

A fairy world ; the sun shines bright 

On many a sparkling ice-robed tree, 
Covered with diamonds in the night. 

In winter, summer, fall, and spring 

The trees are always grandly fair ; 
And so we learn from everything 

Each season brings of joy its share. 



There are many words in the English language that 
have undergone a complete change in the course of 
time, some in form and others in meaning. Among 
the latter is the word " villain," derived from the Latin 
villa, which signifies " farm-house." 

In the middle ages the word " villain " (written also 
villein ") did not mean, as it does now, " scoundrel " 
or " knave." A villain was a feudal tenant of the low- 
est class, a man who received a small amount of land 
from some lord or baron, for which he paid rent by 
military service. Of course the overlords considered 
themselves better than their vassals, and probably treated 
them with contempt. The ha- 
tred of the barons toward their 
tenants increased as the power 
of the former abated and the 
latter grew stronger, so that the 
lords came to associate the vil- 
lains with all that was evil. 



The night is cold ; 

A snowy fold 
Has clothed the world in rest. 

The north wind's moan 

Comes, softly blown, 
Over the low hill's crest. 

The white trees shine 
In pearly line, 
A fairyland released 
Unto our sight 
Bv the pale light 

„. /, . * & YE OLD YEAR. BY 

Ut hos m the east. jessie c. shaw, age 16. 






The word " laconic " is derived from both the Latin 
and Greek languages. It is taken from the words " La- 
conian " or " Lacedaemonian," pertaining to the inhabi- 


tants of ancient Sparta or Laconia, a province or state in 
ancient Greece. 

In ancient times the people of Sparta spoke in as few 
words as possible, and they soon became noted for this 

By degrees the Greeks came to call any one who 
spoke very briefly a " Laconiac." 

In our own times the word is used both as a noun 
and an adjective. It now means short and brief talking, 
or the habit of expressing much in a very few words. 



Pa says when Maine woods lost their leaves, 

By winter winds blown free, 
He 'd hunt for nuts and squirrels' 

Round every forest tree. 

And then down deep in withered 

He 'd scuff his feet along, 
Because he liked to hear the sound, 

Like winter's evening song. 

And when the fields were white with 

And the trees like sheeted ghosts, 
He 'd take his sled and play leap-frog 

O'er all the stumps and posts. 

But here out West, by the sunset 
It is endless summer-time. 
Our trees are green the whole year 
Date-palm, blue-gum, and lime. 

But / 'd give our green trees away 

For just one day of sport 
Like that which pa tells me about 

Of snow men and a fort. 



In summer trees are cool and green ; 
To look at they are fair, 

And birds behind their leafy screen 
With music fill the air. 

In winter trees are cold and bare, 
And birds they sing no more ; 

For they are off to a southern lair 
Where tempests never roar. 

In summer we all love to rest 
Beneath a balsam-tree, 

And watch a warbler in its nest 
Who 's from all troubles free. 

In winter, then, at Christmas-tide, 
The balsam we shall trim 

With sleds and skates and sweets 
That hang from every limb. 



The word " laundry " means a place where clothes 
are washed and ironed. This, of course, is familiar to 
almost every one. Perhaps fewer people know where 
the word came from. 

It is from the Latin lavare, to wash, from which also 
comes the French /aver, to wash, and the Old French 
lavanderie, a washing. 

The Old English word " lavendry " was taken from 
the French. 

Later on it was changed to " lauendry, and still later 
on the e was dropped and it became as we now have it, 
" laundry." 

About the latter half of the thirteenth century the de- 
scendants of the Norman conquerors began to talk Eng- 
lish, using, however, a great many French words, such 
as lavanderie. These grew to be used, in some cases 





slightly changed, by the English themselves, and 
gradually became a part of the language, as laundry 
has done. 

This word in its earlier form was used by William 
Langland in his allegorical and satirical poem the 
"Vision of Piers Plowman," which was written in 
the fourteenth century : 

" Whan he is wery of that werke thanne wil he some 
Labory in a lauendrye wel the lengthe of a myle." 

This poem, although intended for the common peo- 
ple, contains many other words of French origin. 



Softly rustling in the breeze 
Stand the dear old summer trees, 
Green and shady, cool and fair- 
How I love to see you there! 

Bleak and upright in the snow, 
Branches hanging bare and low, 
Gone your look of happy peace — 
Oh, will winter ever cease? 

feU % 




Gaunt and black against the sky, 
While the snowflakes hurry by 
(Poor old trees !), they murmur low, 
" When will dreary winter go? " 



I THINK the subject this month is very inspiring, as it 
will teach boys and girls the history and origin of many 
words, and although these words may be of every-day 
use, their history and origin may be only known to few. 

I think one of these words is " boycott," which had its 
origin in the name of Captain Boycott. 

Captain Boycott was a land-agent in Mayo, a small 
town in Ireland. In the war between England and In- 
dia, Boycott was enlisted in the British army. 

Before the war Boycott had closed his business, but 
after he returned he opened it again. 

Boycott was thought by many to be a selfish, un- 
scrupulous man, who hardly ever treated anybody right. 
At last the people grew tired of him. These people 
were called the Highlanders. 


The Highlanders formed themselves into a body, and 
decided, because of Boycott's unscrupulous nature, to 
ruin his trade ; and so they resolved to have nothing 
whatever to do with him. This was in 1880. 

And as they were successful in this, they employed the 

same tactics against others who aroused their displeasure. 

Since then the word "boycott" has been adopted 

as a weapon mainly between union laborers and 

employers in this country. 



I love the trees in winter, 

Their leafy glory past, 
When clear they lie against the sky 

Or bend beneath the blast. 

I love the trees in winter 

When, no more bare and brown, 

Their limbs bend low with the weight of 
snow — 
A mantle soft as down. 

I love all things in winter, — 
The wind that whistles free, 

The clouds so gray, the stormy day, — 
But best the leafless tree. 


Shakspere, Henry VI. 


Hark! the tempests round are railing, 
And the old tree gasps for breath, 

While the wind is sobbing, wailing; 
'T is a prophecy of death! 

Many springtimes has it flowered, 
Borne its blossoms sweet and fair ; 

Many summers has it showered 
Harvest treasures red and rare ! 

Many winters has it battled, 

All unbending, grim and aged, 
While the wind its branches rattled 

And the storms about it raged! 

It has fallen in the meadow, 

Arms outstretched as if in prayer, 

And the snow is dark with shadow, 
For the giant lieth there! 






The happy summer months are gone ; ^— - 

Autumnal joys are past ; 
And Time has brought unto the earth 

Mis hoary son at last. 

'a heading for 


The trees have shed their leafy garb, 
Their gaunt, bare arms on high ; 

And naught is left but memory 
Of those sweet days gone by. 

Those arms so dark and desolate 
Once seemed so gay and bright! 

The joyous day of summer-time 
Has shaded into night. 

The great year lasts but for a day ; 

'T is morn, 't is noon, 't is night. 
How brief are each bright season's joys! 

Alas, how swift their flight! 



The little white kitten's eyes were blue, 

And his head a golden brown, 
And his fur from his head to the tip of his tail 

Was soft as a wee chick's down. 

The little fat baby's hair was red, 

And her eyes a corn-flower blue, 
And her cheeks were as pink as the eastern 

When the sleepy-eyed sun peeps through. 

The little white flakes came twirling down 
From the cloud-crushed, darkened sky, 

As Santa Claus with his four reindeer 
And ice-rimmed sleigh swept by. 

And he pulled up short at the great stone 

Ghost-white in the winter air, 
And he stifled a laugh with his fat, round arm 

At the little group waiting there. 

A baby asleep in a pink nightgown, 
And a kitten with curled-up paws, 

An old rag doll with shawl-fringe hair, 
Waiting for Santa Claus. 

" A reception for me, as 1 judge," he said, 
With his hands in his curly hair ; 
Then, strictly against all society rules, 
He furnished the bill of fare! 


Princeton, Ind. 
Dear St. Nicholas: "Aunty" Green is an old colored 
mammy. She does my mother's family washing every week. 

One day a well-to-do woman went past Mrs. Green's, going 

down to see the doctor for her rheumatism. Mrs. Green said, 

" Well I 's sorry for you. Miss Fisher; I b'lieve I '11 just hitch 

up my hoss and take you downtown." Mrs. Green is often 

called the Mrs. Wiggs of 


Your little reader, 
Eleanor Nickey 
(age 10). 

Alleghany, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: 
The beautiful silver badge 
came to-day, and I can't 
tell you how much I like 
it, and how much I thank 

I don't think I was ever 
more pleased in my life 
than when I saw my story 
printed. The whole fam- 
ily were quite excited over 
If I ever get to be an author 


it: and my papa was real proud of me 

I shall always think that it was because of the St. Nicholas League 
Your friend, Helen J. Beshgetour (age 9). 

Wilmington, Del. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you how much I enjoyed 
the long stories complete in one number, and I hope you will soon 
publish them again ; a number of my friends have also expressed 
the same feeling. 

I take great interest in the League, and look at it the very first 
thing. I am not an artist, nor can I write stories, but I love to 
look at the contributions of other League members. 

Your interested and devoted reader, Marjorie Betts. 

Sawkill, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I received my silver badge safely, and 
every one says it is a beauty. I was sn discouraged at times, but am 
glad now that I persevered. It is no wonder to me that St. 
Nicholas League members never complain, for the aid and hearty 
encouragement they receive from my favorite magazine are sure to 
help them succeed. I hope some day to win the gold badge, and 
will try my best in every competition. Thanking you very much 
for the help and encouragement given me, I remain, 

Sincerely your friend, Philip Stark (age 13). 



Dear St. Nicholas: I am a Colonial girl. Our home is in 
Falkland Islands, South America ; they are about two hundred miles 
from the Horn. Very few people know where the islands are. 
Sheep-farming is the chief thing that goes on. My father owns a 
large farm. There is plenty of riding. All the work is done with 




horses. It was our greatest pleasure then to ride ; we had a horse 
each. There are plenty of cattle about the camps. I am trying 
for the drawing competition of this month. I must close now. 
Hoping to hear from you soon. 

Your interested reader, Kathleen Bertrand. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Words cannot describe the delight and 
surprise with which 1 received your lovely badge. I thank you 
very much for it, and I assure you I am just 
as proud of it as I can be. ■ 

I feel that if I ever have any success in 
writing it will be all owing to the League. 
Yours respectfully, 

Mildred Newman. 

Dear League : 
At last I was really disgusted : 

There was n't a thing I could do. 
I had written on prose and on poem, 

I 'd worked on the photograph, too. 
I had hunted in queer ancient volumes, 

In fat and in thin ones galore. 
But after I 'd looked long and hunted, 

I forgot all I 'd learned, and much more. 
I wrote on a word, and followed it 

Away back to year number one. 
But I could not see any real meaning 

When it was actually done. 
I wrote about trees in winter 

Till I had it engraved on my brain, 
But I could n't make any sense from it, 

Though I read it again and again. 
I drew as I 'd written — quite awful ; 

So at last I gave up in despair. 
But I said, " If there 's any stuff in me 

I will send in one subject — so there! " 
I have written on prose and on poem, 

So my subject 's all right, you Ml agree; 
And so, to repay all my efforts, 

Just hand down the gold badge to me. 
Alleine Langford (age 15). 

"A heading for 



AGE 15. 

Monmouth, Ore. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Always, when I 
open you, there are certain names I have 

learned to look for, some because I have seen them there before, 
others because their work pleases and interests me. Among these 
are Helen De Veer, Dorothy Hardy Richardson, Marjorie Betts, and 
Margaret McKeon; and I wonder sometimes if they ever look for 
my name as I do for theirs. 

Of all stories in the St. Nicholas, I like "The Story of King 
Arthur and his Knights " best. Indeed, I like all ancient history and 
mythology, and particularly that of England and Egypt. " Idyls of 
the King " I count among my favorite books, and the story of Beo- 
wulf and what I can find of the poem are very interesting. 

The St. Nicholas and the League have always given me great 
pleasure, and wishing them both a long life, I am, 
Yours most sincerely, 

Agnes Dorothy Campbell. 

Lakeside, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas: 1 have just moved from Chicago to a large 
ranch in southern California, and since I have been here I have 
been trying very hard to get a picture of some kind of an animal to 
send to you. I take the kodak nearly everywhere I go, and have 
walked at least four or five extra miles trying to get near enough to 
a rabbit, dove, or quail to get its picture. 

I was very much surprised one afternoon, while on one of my 
tramps, when I came face to face with a large wildcat. I don't know 
which of us was the more surprised, 
and we both stared at each other 
for a minute or two, and then I 
began to fumble at the kodak. As 
soon as he saw me make this move, 
he quickly disappeared. 

I was very sorry, at first, that I 


had n't taken his picture; but as it was after six o'clock, and I was 
surrounded by trees, I fancy the picture would not have been a suc- 
cess. I am sure I shall not be satisfied, however, until I have suc- 
ceeded in getting a good picture of one of the many wild creatures 
which I see daily. Ever your devoted reader, 

Mary Ferry. 



A is for Alfred, who is counting his money, 
B is for Betty, who is eating some honey. 
C is for Catharine, who is feeding the cat, 
D is for Donald, who is drowning a rat. 
Eis for Edith, who is learning to read, 
F is for Frank, who is sowing some seed. 
G is for George, who is mending his bat, 
H is for Harry, who is funny and fat. 
I is for Ida, who is making a mitten, 
J is for Jackie, who is teasing the kitten. 
K. is for Katie, who has lost her ring, 
L is for Lucy, who is having a swing. 
M is for Mary, who is going to sleep, 
N is for Nancy, who is playing bo-peep. 
O is for Olive, who is making some lace, 
P is for Peter, who isvunning a race. 
Q is for Queenie, who is learning to sew, 
R is for Robert, who is trying to row. 
S is for Sally, who is playing with her ball, 
T is for Tommy, who is growing quite tall. 
U is for Una, who is learning to skate, 
V is for Vivien, who is trying his bait. 
W is for Willie, who is going to bed, 
But I can't find a name for X, Y, and Zed. 

Eastport, Me. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Having read in the 
League a story about Paul du Chaillu, I 
thought I would like to tell you that " Friend 
Paul " was a great friend of ours. 

He may have been odd-looking and all 
that, but he was certainly one of the nicest 
gentlemen I ever saw. He told us often of 
his experiences in the African interior, and 
they were certainly most interesting. Once a cannibal king took 
such a liking to him that he told him he might choose any of his 
eighty wives he wanted, and when Mr. du Chaillu said that he would 
not think of choosing from among so many, for fear of hurting their 
feelings, the king said he might have the entire eighty ; but Mr. du 
Chaillu declined the offer. 

One time, when he was in Boston, I was reading in the library, 
and he came in. He asked me what I was reading, and when I 
said, "St. Nicholas," he said, "It ought to be St. Paul," which 
was very amusing. 

Another time, at our house, he was introduced to a very tall man 
(probably every one knows how very small he was), and he looked 
up at him and said, " Well, this is the long and the short of it, cer- 
tainly," much to the amusement of the other gentleman. 

I think his books are extremely interesting, and some of them he 
has given us. It was a perfect shame he could n't have written his 
book on Russia, and I am very glad that I knew him. Hoping this 
may interest you, I am your devoted reader, 

Frances R. Porter (age 16). 

Other entertaining and appreciative letters have been received from 
Dorothy Hutchins, Olga Lee, Ada Harriet Case, Clarence B. Brace, 
Edith Legh Mann, Louise Fannie Easton, Lillian E. Van Wert, 
Vera Dannals, Jessie E. Wilcox, Dorothy H. Kuhns, Mar- 
jorie Fay, Rosalie Aylett Sampson, Lola Hall, Josephine P. 
Davis, Miriam Shryock, Elsie A. Turner, Anna Lodge Par- 
rish, Harriette Pease, Mary N. Owen, Thurston Brown, 
J. Foster Hickman, and Katherine M. Burton. 


Vol. XXXL— 36. 




X&$i»Xxi2 li£*|Lj$tl£. 


Mabel Goodsell Far- 

Jos. S. Webb 
Cordner H. Smith 
Jean Herbet 
Edith Plonsky 
Joseph Fewsmith 
Stasito Azoy 
Charlotte Ball 

Louise Robbins 
E. M. Crombie 
Ethel Messervy 
Harriet Barney Burt 
Katie Nina Miller 
Florence Gardiner 
Louise Gleason 
Sara M. Snedeker 
Howard Easton Smith 
Ella Elizabeth Preston 
Frances Goodrich 

Charlotte E. Penning- Edna B. Steck 



No. 1. A list of those whose work would have been 
published had space permitted. 

No. 2. A list of those whose work entitles them to 
honorable mention and encouragement. 

Phoebe Wilkinson 
Gladys L'E. Moore 
Margaret A. Dobson 
Helen M. Brown 
Mary B. Thomas 
William P. Anderson 
Elise Urguhant 
Gladys G. Young 
Joseph McGurk 
Mark Curtis Kinney 
Harry Smith 
Melville C. Levey 
Jessie J. Whitcomb 
Caroline Latzke 

Catherine Warner 
Ruth Tolman 
Beatrice Warhanik 
Donald Armour 
Grace F. R. Meeker 
Elizabeth Jackson 
Willora Hutton 
Georgina Wood 
Paul H. Wilkinson 
William Hays Ballard 
Midget Bouton 
George William Hall 
Alice F. Lee 
Eleanor V. Jacob 
Katherine Bigelow 


Helen Mabry Boucher Bal 

Mary Sweetland 
Miriam Cragin 
Mary L. Thornton 
Alice Lorraine Andrews 
Sue Abigail Preston 
Katherine Kurz 
Constance M. Dewey 
Katharine McMahon 
Fern L. Patten 
Saidee E. Kennedy 
M. Sydney Foster 
Ethel Berrian 
Margery Quigley 
Helen M. Spear 
Harriette Kyler Pease 
Alice M. Perkins 
Mildred Newman 
Ralph Balcom 
Dorothy Felt 
Millicent Pond 
Marion H. Tuthill 
Effie Saxton 
Eloise T. Garstin 
Frances Spaulding 
Eleanor H. Bailey 
Marjorie H. Sawyer 
Phyllis Cooper 


Philip Wolle 
Lola Hall 
Sarah Addington 
Mary E. Cromer 
Blanche Hazle Leeming 
Lina Gould 

Mary Dorothy Musser 
Rosalind Wood 
Harold Stock 
Howard Smith 
Marguerite Jervis 
Henry Carter 
Vincent Sexton 
Isadore Douglas 
Lydia C. Ford 
Rosa van Gelder 


Agnes Churchill Lacey 
A. Elizabeth Goldberg 

Robert A. Kilduffe 
Frances Wentworth Cutler 
Mayblossom Ayres 
Alleine Langford 
Elliot Quincy Adams 
Louisa F. Spear 
Fay Marie Hartley 
Beulah H. Ridgeway 
Marguerite La Wall Janvrin 
Gladys M. Adams 
Helen Chandler Willis 
Margaret E. Sloan 
Margaret Drew 
Mary Smith 
Harold R. Norris 
Elsa Clark 
Gladys Green 
Mildred Quiggle 
Virginia Mitchell Dunn 
May Margaret Bevier 
Elsie F. Weil 
Shirley Willis 
Bert Durden 
Elizabeth Lee 
Stella J. Liotard 
Katharine Monica Burton 
Edith J. Minaker 
Dorothy Ferrier 
Marjory Walford 
Nannette F. Hamburger 
Dorothy Foster 


Ona Ringwood 
Wilkie Gilholm 
Willie A. Brown 
Esther Dunwoody 
Robert Powell Cotter 
Bessie Stella Jones 
Melicent Eno Humason 
Arthur K. Hulme 
Carolyn Coit Stevens 
Edith Moeller 
Elizabeth Burgess 
Mary Blossom Bloss 
Elizabeth Banks 
Fred Warren 
Sarah Swift 
George Currie Evans 


Jeanette McAlpin 
Mildred Easty 

Donald Quinn 
Randolph Payne 
Lawrence Jackson 
George Robinson 
Laurence O. Macomber 
Ettabelle Cone 
Horace J. Simons 
Amy Peabody 
Arthur H. Wilson 
Edward E. Bolte 
Margaret Boyd Copeland 
Muriel Foster 
N. W. Swayne 
Frederic C. Smith 
Deb. Frazer Crichton 
Doris Long 
T. Sam Parsons 
Julia S. Howell 
Marion P. Bolles 
Marion R. Pitt 
Morris D. Douglas 
Donald F. Cranor 
Ernest Percy 


Morrison N. Stiles 
Marion K. Cobb 
Will J. Norton 
Florence R. T. Smith 
Eno Hamm 
T. Beach Piatt 
Charles Jackson 
Gertrude N. Cornly 
Theodosia Longeuecker 
Leila Houghteling 
Edith Houston 
Emma Bettis 
Anna McKechnie 
Pauline S. Dutcher 
Pauline Greider 
Helen Wing 
Heyliger de Windt 
John Hoar 
Edith D. Patten 
Elsa van Nes 
Eliza Keating 
Allen Frank Brewer 
Dudley T. Fisher, Jr. 
Archibald S. Macdonald 
Wendell D. Brown 
Mary Clarke 
Fannie F. Tuttle 
Dorothy L. Glover 
George F. Simson 
Margaret B. Ross 
Ada Harriet Case 
Gladys Ralston Britton 
Mary Squires 
Philip A. Barton 
Philip F. Kennard 
Helen McLaughlin 

Marjory Anne Harrison Mary Lord Fairbanks 
Margaret McKeon Olive Mudie Cooke 

Margaret Ellen Payne George Maclean 

Emily W. Browne 
Julia Coolidge 
Martha G. Schreyer 
Wray Bartlett Physioc 
Dorothy Riggs 
Guinevere Norwood 
Sidney Edward Dickinson 
Anna A. Fleichtner 
Margaret King 
Linda Thomas 
Winifred Hutchings 
Anne Rogers 


Anna J. Monaghan 
Lucile Raymond Byrne 
Rita Wood 
Helen F. Maloney 
Elizabeth A. Gest 
Evelyn Olver Foster 
Richard A. Reddy 
Anna B. Carolan 
Alexander Osborne 
Margery Foster 
Edna B. Youngs 
Ivy Varian Walshe 
Margaret Oeland 
Robert E. Andrews 
Monica Peirson Turner 
Joseph B. Mazzano 
Vivien Massie Gribble 
Meade Bolton 
Louis P. Selden 
Ruth Felt 
Laura Gardin 
Mary Hazeltine Few- 
Irene Ross Longborough 

Edna P. Knapp 
Elizabeth Wilcox Pardee 
Elizabeth Chase Burt 

Anna Marguerite Neu- 

E. Adelaide Hahn 
Rebecca C. Rutledge 
Daisy James 
Marion Thomas 
Marjorie H. Holmes 
Mason Garfield 
Elsa Eschbach 
J. E. Fisher, Jr. 
Samuel Loveman 
Margaret Abbott 
Lester F. Babcock 
Mary D. Bailey 
Gertrude Scholle 

Penelope M. Seymour 
Madge Oakley 
Florence Foster 
Carrie. M. Lee 
Kathleen Judge 
William Ellis Keysor 
PaulT. Arnold 
Allie Elaine Shell 
Martin Janowitz 
Josephine Taylor 
Margaret W. Mandell 
Dorothy Gray Brooks 
Mary C. Tucker 
Wallace G. Arnold 
Lucile Weber 
Edward C. Chase 
Morrison T. Walker 


All League members should take part in Chapter 
Entertainment Competition No. 3, of which see an- 
nouncement in another column. 

Chapter 571 reports that it has just passed its first an- 
niversary, and that three members have had their names 
on Roll of Honor No. 1. The next step is a prize. 

Chapter 625 is going to have corn-popping and candy- 
making this winter. Those are the things that make 
chapter meetings a success. 

Chapter 684, " Four Little Women," take the parts 
of Meg, Joe, Beth, and Amy, and try to be like those 
characters. We wonder if there was any argument as 
to who should be "Joe." "We have great fun and 
meet every two weeks." 


No. 684. " Four Little Women." Celia Lewis, 
President ; Florence Williams, Secretary ; six mem- 
bers. Address, 63 Vernon Place, Buffalo, N. Y. 

No. 685. " Little Women." Ellen Williams, Presi- 
dent; Marian Dawley, Secretary ; six members. Ad- 
dress, 834 3d Ave., Cedar Rapids, la. 





If any reader 01 St. Nicholas has volumes 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, n, 16, 
and 17 of St. Nicholas which he desires to sell, he may write to the 
editor of the League, stating at what price he is willing to dispose 
of them, or for which later volumes he would exchange them. 




To encourage chapter formation and further to promote the aims 
and purpose of the St. Nicholas League, the following prize offers 
are made tochapters already formed, 
and to those that may form in time 
to take part in the competition. 

To the chapter that on or before 
March 25 of the present year shall 
give the most successful public en- 
tertainment, and devote the net pro- 
ceeds to the best use, fifty dollars' 
worth of books, to be selected from 
The Century Co.'s latest published 
catalogue, which will be sent free 
on application. 

To the chapter ranking second, 
as above, twenty-five dollars 1 wortk 
of Century publications. 

To the chapter ranking third, fif- 
teen dollars' wortk. 

To the chapter ranking fourth, ten 
dollars' worth. 


i. The entertainment may be ot 
any sort, provided that a major- 
ity of the features are selected from the St. Nicholas magazine. 

2. "The most successful entertainment" shall be understood to 
mean the entertainment realizing the largest net proceeds after legit- 
imate expenses have been deducted. 

3. The "best use" shall be understood to mean that most in ac- 
cordance with the St. Nicholas League aims and purpose, and it may 
be educational, charitable, patriotic, or humane, or for the best ad- 
vancement of the League itself as represented by the chapter giving 
the entertainment. It is not necessary that the sum realized be all 
devoted to one purpose. The matter is left entirely in the hands of 
each chapter, and a full report must be made to the League editor 
by the chapter president and secretary, and indorsed as correct by 
those to whom the money has been paid. 

4. In all public announcements of the entertainment, and upon the 
printed programme, the chapter number and the name of the League 
must appear, as per following example: 

Given by the St. Nicholas League, 

Chapter No. ■ , 

Of (Town), (State). 

If the chapter has a name, the name should also appear. 

5. Whenever practicable, it shall be allowable for chapters to obtain 
free use of hall, accessories, costumes, and any other form of con- 
tribution possible, in order to swell their net proceeds — in fact, to 
make any honest effort to reduce the expenses of giving the enter- 

6. Where a dramatic entertainment is to be given, the St. Nicholas 
League will, upon application signed by chapter president and sec- 
retary, send, postpaid, the " Book of St. Nicholas Plays," from 
which any play may be selected, said book to remain the property 
of the League for use in future entertainments, and must be returned, 
care of The Century Co., when the entertainment is over. 

7. The report of each entertainment, with a copy of its programme, 
must be received by the League editor on or before April 1, 1904. 
The awards will be announced in the League department for June. 


This competition ought to result in a great deal of good for every- 
body. Whether the entertainment be dramatic, musical, recitative, 
a fair, or a combination of all, it 
cannot fail to result in much whole- 
some interest and pleasure, while 
the fund obtained, whether small 
or large, whether it obtains a prize 
or not, will be of benefit to what 
ever good purpose it be applied. 

Do not let the fact that you live 
in a small town, or even in the 
country, discourage you in the un- 
dertaking. Many of the most suc- 
cessful and profitable chapter en- 
tertainmentsgivenheretoforehave "tailpiece for January." by wilhelmina maloney, age 7. 

been those given in small villages. Wherever there is a school there 
is a place for a chapter and a chapter entertainment. Badges and 
instruction leaflets will be sent upon request to all desiring to join 
the League and to organize chapters. It is not necessary to be a 
subscriber, but only a reader of the magazine, to belong to the 


The St. Nicholas League offers gold and silver 
badges each month for the best poems, stories, draw- 
ings, photographs, puzzles, and puzzle-answers. Also 
cash prizes of five dollars each to gold-badge winners 
who shall again win first place. 

Competition No. 52 will close January 20 (for foreign 
members January 25). The 
awards will be announced 
and prize contributions pub- 
lished in St. Nicholas for 

Verse. To contain not 
more than twenty-four lines, 
and may be illustrated, if de- 
sired, with not more than 
two drawings or photographs 
by the author, and to relate 
in some manner to " Youth." 
Prose. Article or story of 
not more than four hundred 
words. Title to contain the 
word " Cave." 

Photograph. Any size, in- 
terior or exterior, mounted 
prints or negatives. Subject, 

boxer and the goslings." by vieva marie 
fisher, age 10. 


or unmounted, no blue 
" Shadows." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash 
(not color), interior or exterior. Two subjects, " The 
Object before Me," and " A Heading for April." 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the 
answer in full. 

Puzzle-answers. Best, neatest, and most complete 
set of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 

Wild-animal or Bird Photograph. To encourage 
the pursuing of game with a camera instead of a gun. 
For the best photograph of a wild animal or bird taken 
in its natural home : First Prize, five dollars and League 
gold badge. Second Prize, three dollars and League 
gold badge. Third Prize, League gold badge. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber 
or not, is entitled to League membership, and a League 
badge and leaflet, which will be sent on application. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 

name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed 

as " original " by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must 

be convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not 

copied, but wholly the work and idea of the sender. 

If prose, the number of words should also be added. 

These things must not be on a separate sheet, but on 

the contribution itself— -if a manuscript, on the upper 

margin ; if a picture, on the margin or back. Write or 

draw on one side of the paper 

only. A contributor may 

send but one contribution 

a month — not one of each 

kind, but one only. 

Address all communica- 
tions : 

The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Sq., New York. 


little brothers Do you older boys and 
and sisters. g j r i s at a n understand the 

great power you may exercise for the benefit of 
the younger members of your family ? And in 
speaking of " power " there is no idea of force 
implied. It is hardly necessary to make sug- 
gestions about that; too many big brothers and 
sisters are well aware of the sway they can ex- 
ercise over their weaker brothers and sisters. 
The power meant is real power, not force. You 
know the old quotation, " A man convinced 
against his will is of the same opinion still." 
Such compliance is not a lasting victory. Real 
power, real conquest, is to change another's 
will so that he will do as he pleases and yet do 
as you please. 

In regard to young readers you may exercise 
the most benevolent power. You may see that 
the right reading is brought to them when they 
most need it. You may see that the reading 
which is a waste of time is discouraged. Your 
juniors will listen to you because you are nearer 
their age, and if you say a book is a waste of 
time they will believe you, whereas they might 
think a grown reader was speaking from the 
grown person's standpoint. 

You may teach them to preserve books worth 
keeping, to pass on to others books that will do 
more good elsewhere. You may show them 
the wastefulness of too rapid reading — remind- 
ing them that it is like bolting delicious fruit, 
whereby all flavor is lost. 

But, as a little warning, remember not to 
spoil the flavor of a new book by picking out 
all the nice bits and leaving only the more com- 
monplace parts for the younger reader. 

on being hos- It would be a foolish 


friends. young person who refused 
all new friends because the old were satisfac- 
tory; only less foolish than the boy or girl who 
should reject all old friends in the hope of find- 
ing better ones. The same remark applies to 
books. There are good new books as well as 
good old books, and a wise reader has a place 
for both. Of course one is surer of the old 

friends — the books that have pleased your 
father and mother and their parents. They are 
" trusty, tried, and true," and to be bound to 
your hearts with hooks of steel. But have a 
kindly air to the newcomers, so that if there 
be a great genius now arising, he may have 
your plaudits to cheer him on ! There is no 
reason why we should not encourage new 
writers ; even selfishly we ought to do so, since 
they will richly repay us. 

binding The rebinding of an old 

your books, book is not an expensive 
matter. A good and durable binding will cost a 
dollar or less, and your favorite volume is ready 
for long years of service again, and all the dearer 
because of the coat it has worn out in your ser- 
vice. But if the old binding has associations 
which you do not wish to lose, it can often be 
restored or re-made — at a reasonable price. 
As to minor injuries, you can attend to those 
for yourself. I wonder if it has ever been sug- 
gested to you that books are not good things to 
throw ? The propping up of defective windows 
will be something that not even the best litera- 
ture can suffer without injury, and it is also 
recommended that if table legs be uneven there 
are better things than a volume of some favorite 
author's works for redressing the inequality. 

a true A few months ago in 

wonderland, ftis department one of the 
tasks set was describing a vacation in some 
favorite book. A number of the articles writ- 
ten described a visit to "Wonderland" — the 
strange region where Alice met the Red Queen, 
the Carpenter, the March Hare, and so many 
queer animals. The boys and girls who wrote 
those articles considered themselves fortunate in 
receiving an invitation to this land of marvels. 
And probably few of them have ever reflected 
that there is a real Wonderland a thousand times 
better worth a visit; a Wonderland open to every 
child and to every grown person ; a land where 
there are more amusing things than Alice saw, 
more interesting people, more delightful verses. 

Of course you have not read so far as this 




without guessing the little puzzle, and you know 
that this true Wonderland is the land of books, 
the land where dwell all those delightful per- 
sonages, where take place all the interesting hap- 
penings, where dwell all the beautiful thoughts 
our poets and story-makers have written for us 
since writing was invented. 

Alice's Wonderland, though amusing to read 
about, would be anything but pleasant if it were 
a reality — too much like a nightmare. As a 
bit of make-believe it is charming enough ; but 
do not forget that it is but a tiny patch of the 
great land of Wonder into which you may enter 
in your own home whenever you choose to take 
down a volume from your shelves. 

" happy I know some young 

thoughts." readers who find great de- 
light in the two volumes of " Happy Thoughts " 
by F. C. Burnaud, the editor of the London 
" Punch." At all events, they contain much 
that will amuse you, and little you will not care 
to read. They are the merest fooling for the 
most part, but certainly are very funny. 

For the benefit of new 

BOOKMARKS. . , . . ,., 

readers we should like to 
repeat a suggestion made a year or more ago 
in this department, namely, that you should be 
careful what you put between the pages of your 
books to keep your place when you are reading. 
Anything that is thick presses the pages apart, 
and is sure to crack the back, and when the 
back is once broken, the life of the volume, if 
in active service, is sure to be short. 

When you secure one of 
those beautifully printed 
volumes which are brought out especially to 
grace the holiday season, — a fine edition of 
some fine work, — do take care of it. Such books 
are valuable as property, besides being a charm- 
ing form of good literature. Learn to know 
which printing-houses have done and which are 
doing good work, so that you may select the 
products of true and trustworthy craftsmen, and 
thus encourage the best in a noble art — "the 
art preservative of all the arts." 
references in How many of you have 
your reading, learned to look up in refer- 
ence-books the allusions in your reading ? Un- 
less you have done so you can have no idea 
how much better you will understand great 

books that 
increase in 


writers. Great writers are likely to have been 
great readers also, and many things are clear to 
them that may not be clear to us readers. And 
yet they would not refer to a great battle, a 
well-known building, or to a historical charac- 
ter unless with the idea of adding something 
to their writing — something you can not af- 
ford to miss. Of course there are writers who 
" lug in " references merely to make them- 
selves appear learned; but there is little dan- 
ger that you will spend too much time over 
the writings of these men. 

the seeking One of the delights of 
of variety. growing up is the pleasure 
of finding new paths in the Wonderland of 
Books. Young readers are very likely to follow 
the paths known to every one, not being fully 
aware of the vast extent and variety of the Re- 
gion of Reading. And yet there are guide- 
books to this land, as to others. It is one of the 
objects of this department to furnish you with 
traveling charts, with routes that will open to 
you new objects of interest. Each boy and 
each girl has tastes differing from every other, 
and for nearly every taste there is a multitude 
of books. Let us know what you like to read 
about, and we will help you to find good books 
on the subjects you prefer. Every great writer 
has once been a little boy or girl, and does not 
forget the things interesting to the young. It 
seems a pity that you should not be helped to 
find the reading you like best. 

"locality Every place, no matter 

reading." h ow siri all, has a history, 
and in this history you will find much of inter- 
est. Your school " histories " are, for the most 
part, too general to find room for all the little 
details that make past times real. Go to your 
librarian and find out what he can advise about 
reading up the story of your town. If you 
live in a city, select some building or special 
part of the city, and in the same way try to find 
the interesting happenings connected with it in 
the past. Perhaps the leading clue may be 
found by learning the story of some prominent 
man and his ancestors — the earliest settler or 
most celebrated native of your own city. After 
you have thus made acquaintance with some of 
the real stories connected with history, you will 
find general histories helpful. 


"Count Geoffrey's Crest," printed on page 257 
of this number, while not set forth as historically accu- 
rate in every detail, has a historical foundation in fact. 

Count Geoffrey of Anjou — like Calif Haroun of Bag- 
dad — loved to go unrecognized among his people, to 
become acquainted with them and to learn how they 
were treated by his officers. Among all the legends 
that cling to the grim old donjon of Loches, there is 
none prettier than that which tells of the charcoal- 
burner who guided a strange knight out of the forest, 
and, on arriving at Loches, learned that the man to 
whom he had been talking so unguardedly about the 
grievances of the peasantry was the only one who had 
the power to redress those grievances — his liege lord, 
the Count of Anjou. The count rewarded him liberally 
and promised to redress the wrongs of which he had 
told. So much of this story is undoubtedly authentic. 
Whether the charcoal-burner's little daughter ever vis- 
ited the castle, whether she crowned the count with the 
flower that became the crest of the Plantagenets, the 
author of the tale does not certainly know. But it would 
be so in keeping with Count Geoffrey's character, his 
love for his people, his country and all that belonged to 
it, to have accepted such a badge from a peasant child, 
that it is easy to believe it all happened just as it is told 
in the story. C. K. H. 

Readers of " How We Bought Louisiana " will be 
interested in a comparison made in a recent issue of a 
New York paper showing the enormous increase in value 
and importance of the great territory bought from 
France. These statistics show that though the purchase 
price may have seemed high at the time, it was insignifi- 
cant compared with the value of even the agricultural, 
grazing, or mining products contributed by that section. 
To quote from a portion of the article : 

" Out of the territory thus added to the area of the 
United States twelve States and two Territories have 
been formed. The population has increased from perhaps 
50,000 to 15,000,000. The production of wheat in 1900 
was 264,000,000 bushels valued at ten times the entire 
(purchase price. The value of the wheat, corn, cotton, 
-oats, rye, barley, hay, and potatoes produced in 1900 
was over $750,000,000. The farm animals were worth 
:$825,ooo,ooo. More than one half the wheat and corn 
crops of the entire country comes from the territory 
in question. The single State of Colorado produced 
more gold in 1902 than the whole United States had 
yielded in all of its history down to 1840. That same 
single State has produced in all more than $800,000,000 
in gold, silver, copper, and lead, while another State — 
Montana — has exceeded $1,000,000,000 in the four 
metals named. The wool product of Louisiana in 1902 
would more than pay the original cost of the entire pur- 
chase, while the corn of Iowa would have paid it six 
times over. 

" The railway system of the territory embraces over 
62,000 miles." 

Our readers will be interested in this kind and ap- 
preciative letter from an old friend of St. Nicholas: 

Richmond, Ind. 

Dear Editor: One Christmas morning, when I 
was a tiny girl, a neighbor boy brought in his best- 
beloved present for me to see. 'T was the first pub- 
lished numbers of St. Nicholas Magazine. Since 
that introduction the dear old saint and I have been 
the best of friends. For many years I read his stories 
and sang his jingles to five little brothers of mine. Of 
late I have read and sung them over again to four little 
sons of mine. On the lowest shelves in our library are 
the most used and most worn of all our books — thirty 
bound volumes of St. Nicholas. 

After we read the article about children's book- 
plates, we invented a new game. We draw all sorts 
of designs for book-plates, using favorite illustrations 
from our pet stories. For instance, the elephant who 
sat on some kegs and juggled glass bottles and eggs 
was made to sit on "Jack's Book," which his weight 
bent down to look about as crushed and shabby as Jack's 
books generally do. Puss-in-boots strode gaily along 
with "Elmer's Book." Hop Wing's Dragon was 
drawn greedily devouring "Julius's Book." Cheerful 


Cats played hop-scotch with " My Book." Brownies 
and elves ran in and out of " Our Book." It is great 
fun to see in how many and in what curious ways some 
of the quaint pictures in St. Nicholas will lend them- 
selves to such designs. Finally, we have chosen one 
to keep permanently— the brave little knight in " Over 
the hills and far away," with his sweet, wistful face we 
all like so very much. And when we drew him com- 
ing out of our own story-book, we felt that he was just the 
one to stand champion for all the stories in St. Nicho- 
las, and in all the boys' books in our house. 
Sincerely your friend, 

Mrs. E. B. Grosvenor. 




Diagonal. Christmas. Cross-words : i. Concourse. 2. Whole- 
some. 3. Turquoise. 4. Abdicates. 5. Accessory. 6. Ascertain. 
7. Persimmon. 8. Cathedral. 9. Apparatus. 
Triple Cross-word Enigma. England, Holland, Belgium. 
Numerical Enigma. 
Heap on more wood ! The wind is chill, 
But let it whistle as it will, 
We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 

" Marmion," Introduction to Canto VI. 
Connected Diamonds. I. 1. N. 2. Pan. 3. Byron. 4 
Consort. 5. Narcissus. 6. Parsnip. 7. Basin. 8. Sum. 9. S 
II. 1. S. 2. Gun. 3. Banjo. 4. Wilfred. 5. Sunflower. 6 
Dorothy. 7. Hawks. 8. Sea. 9. R. III. 1. S. 2. Pad. 3 
Ninth. 4. Meadows. 5. Sandpiper. 6. Apricot. 7. Pupil. 8 

See. 9. R. Charade. Cox-comb. 

Concealed Primal Acrostic. Richelieu. 1. Race. 2. Idea 
3. Cast. 4. Hand. 5. Eaxl. 6. Late. 7. Iris. 8. Epic. 9. User. 

Sword Puzzle. From 1 to 2, Alexander Hamilton. Down- 
ward: 1. Frances. 2. Album. 3. Heart. 4. Extra. 5. Cataract 

6. Stand. 7. Ode. 8. Fen. 9. Art. 10. The. n. Oar. 12. 
Amy. 13. Oil. 14. All. 15. Ate. 16. Ton. 17. N. 

Zigzag. Rutherford Hayes. Cross-words : 1. Rehearse. 2. 
Judgment. 3. Attitude. 4. Nightcap. 5. Bulletin. 6. Auto- 
crat. 7. Identify. 8. Colorado. 9. Blizzard. 10. Cowardly. 11. 
Overhead. 12. Creation. 13. Bayonets. 14. Ceremony. 15. 

Diagonal. Mozart. Cross-words : 1. Manner. 2. Mortar. 3. 
Nozzle. 4. Manage. 5. Finery. 6. Fright. 

Beheadings. Shakespeare. 1. Sc-old. 2. Ho-nor. 3. Ag-ate. 
4. Ko-ran. 5. Ex-its. 6. Sh-ark. 7. Pr-ice. 8. Ep-ode. 9. 
Ar-ray. 10. Ro-man. n. Ed-win. 

Concealed Central Acrostic. Holidays. Cross-words: i_ 
Aches. 2. Alone. 3. Solar. 4. Thigh. 5. Order. 6. Train. 

7. Mayor. 8. Epsom. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from Joe Carlada — Grace Haren 
— Florence Guida Steel — Albert E. Stockin — Lilian Sarah Burt — "The Spencers," — Katharine Van Dyck — S. S. S. — "Chuck " — 
"Allil and Adi " — Laura E. Jones — Amelia Ferguson — Christine Graham — Olga Lee — Walter P. Bliss — Margaret C. Wilby — 
"Johnny Bear" — Virginia Gillesby — Alfred W. Satterthwait — George Tilden Colman — Lillian Jackson. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from W. Goldsboro, 1 — M. McKnight, 1 — 
C. Schumann, 1 — M. J. Thomas, 1 — D. Hungerford, 1 — H. S. Ogden, 1 — C. B. Fisher, 2 — J. C. Leo, 1 — L. Johnson, 1 — Bertha C. 
Luce, 5 — E. Whittemore, 2 — M. Lionbeyer, 1 — A. C. Hallock, 1 — L. F. Pearson. 1 — M. C. Miller, 1 — K. B. Emmick, 1 — Janet 
Moore, 1 — Irma Gehres, 9 — Lawrence and Frederica Mead, 9 — E. A. Mason, 1 — Oscar C. Lautz, 5 — Marjorie McLean, 2 — Hester 
Barclay Fogg, 9 — Rose C. Huff, 9 — Nettie Barnwell, 5 — David A. Sterling, 1 — William H. Jess, 3 — Katharine H. Burket, 1 — G. 
Perry, 1 — H. Wallace Burne, 1 — Margaretta V. Whitney, 2 — M. P. Nelson, 1 — Hilda Gelis-Didot, 4. 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the diagonal beginning with the upper left- 
hand letter and ending with the lower right-hand let- 
ter, will spell the name of an English historian. 

Cross-words : i. The calendula. 2. A crustacean 
that adheres to rocks and to floating timber. 3. An 
official paper. 4. To choke. 5. A month. 6. The 
children's patron saint. 7. A man who controls a mo- 
tor. 8. Promoting health. 

Sherman H. BOWLES (League Member). 

2. The entrance to a mine. 3. A filibeg. 4. A feminine 

III. Central Square: i. Duration. 2. Some- 
thing worshiped. 3. A kind of rose. 4. A feminine 

IV. Lower Left-hand Square: i. Toward the 
front. 2. A figure in the shape of an egg. 3. Frag- 
ments of cloth. 4. If the facts were different. 

V. Lower Right-hand Square: i. A very tiny 
particle of matter. 2. Duration. 3. To leave out. 
4. To measure. 

Helen jelliffe (League Member). 


I. Upper Left-hand Square : i. To accost. 2. 
A feminine name. 3. Taverns. 4. Final. 

II. Upper Right-hand Square: i. To fashion. 


I. Add two letters to a human being, and make a 
landed estate. 2. Add the same two letters to a num- 
ber, and make a singer. 3. To an explosive sound, and 
make a city of New England. 4. To a month, and make 
the chief magistrate of a city. 5. To measure, and make 
a heavenly body. 6. To gone by, and make a minister. 
7. To a bivalve, and make uproar. 8. To a black cover, 
and make want of color. 9. An exclamation used for 
checking or rebuking, and make a preceptor. 10. To a 
droning sound, and make fun. 11. To a pithy saying, 
and make a motive power. 12. To a title in Spain, for- 
merly given to noblemen but now common to all classes, 
and make one who gives or bestows. 






(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

My primals and finals will each spell the name of a 
contributor to St. Nicholas. 

Cross-words (of unequal length): i. To make fast. 
2. To labor too hard. 3. A casement. 4. A long-haired 
Peruvian animal. 5. A hunting dog. 6. Act. 7. The 
name of the father of Alexander the Great. 8. The day- 
just past. 9. Flat. 10. A bird of prey. 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

1 • 3 

Cross-words, i. Imaginary. 2. Pertaining to the 
margin. 3. Corrugated. 4. Such as befits a vulgar 
jester. 5. Divulged. 6. Relating to marriage. 7. A 
marginal annotation. 8. Having the power of express- 
ing strong emotions in an effective manner. 

From 1 to 2 and from 3 to 4 each name a naval hero. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

My primals may all be found in the word " promis- 
cuous " ; my finals spell a pleasant greeting. 

Cross-words : 1. The ruler of Persia. 2. A femi- 
nine name. 3. A blow. 4. To desist. 5. To remain. 
6. In a short time. 7. A covering for the foot. 8. To 
exhibit. 9. To kill. 10. Out of danger. 11. An arti- 
cle of furniture. 12. A blemish. francis wolle. 


My first is but a base deceit; 

My second's hard and flinty; 
My whole was brought from over seas 

By Patrick O. McGinty. 



All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the diagonals, from the upper left-hand letter to 
the lower right-hand letter will spell a Christmas deco- 
ration ; while the diagonals, from the lower left-hand 
letter to the upper right-hand letter, will spell a feminine 

Cross- words: 1. A small likeness. 2. To whirl, 
like a dancer. 3. Twisted out of natural shape. 4. One 
who sells paper and writing materials. 5. A list. 6. 
Polite. 7. Peasants, collectively. 8. A reptile that can 
change color. 9. A feminine name. daisy james. 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another in the order here given, the first row of letters 
will spell the name of a famous book and another row 
will spell the name of its author. 

Cross-words: i. An ocean. 2. The Christian name 
of a character in the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow." 3. 
Vexation. 4. Old-fashioned garments. 5. Trees of 
mournful aspect. 6. An island west of Great Britain. 7. 
A character in the play of "Julius Caesar." 8. Carries 
away by force. 9. An artist. 10. Bowmen. 11. The 
European long-tailed titmouse. 12. The latter part of 
the day. 13. The act of renewing. 14. Very near rela- 
tives, lucian levison (League Member). 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

• • 3 

Cross-words: i. The facts from which an inference 
is drawn. 2. Part of the external ear. 3. Therefore. 
4. The native name of Persia. 5. A water animal. 6. 
A public way. 7. The end of a prayer. 8. Happy. 9. 
Sour. 10. Perceived. 11. Every. 12. In greater 
numbers. 13. Capable. 14. To unite. 

The primals from 2 to I, and the zigzag from 3 to 4, 
each name a President of the United States. 


I. I. To conspire. 2. Affection. 3. Egg-shaped. 
4. To make known. 

II. I. To venture. 2. A river in England. 3. A 
public highway. 4. Terminations. 

III. I. A hideous giant. 2. Kind. 3. A highway. 
4. A whirlpool. S. L. L., H. S., and R. T. 



Photograph by Franz Haiifstajigel. 


{"The Baby's Cap," page 294.) 


Vol. XXXI. 

FEBRUARY, 1904. 

No. 4. 


By N. Hudson Moore. 

A very simple thing it seems, does it not ? or girl could wear more than three rings, and 

Just a little piece of soft, warm cloth, or some 
downy wool knitted into shape, or even some 
bits of fine lace or silk, or anything dainty, might 
go to make so small a thing as this. 

But while we may pick and choose and do 
exactly as we please about our clothes, there 
have been, in times gone by, in many countries, 
and even in our own, what were known as 
" sumptuary laws." These laws regulated ex- 
penditure for dress, for ornament, for food, or 
for whatever refreshments you might give com- 
pany when they came to take tea. 

Among the first of these sumptuary laws was 
one made in Rome in 215 B.C., and called the 
" Oppian Law." It declared that no woman 
should possess more than half an ounce of gold, 
wear a dress of different colors, or ride in a ve- 

even these could have only one stone or pearl 
in each. The, next. rule in this set of seven is 
so strange that I give it just as it reads : 

" Item. No person in the city, suburbs, or dis- 
trict of Florence shall permit himself or presume 
to give in any way to any woman any kind of 
collar, or buckle, or garland, or brooch of pearls, 
or of gold, or of silver, or of any other precious 
stone or similar thing, by whatever name it 
may be called." 

Of all things, however, lace has had framed 
more rules and regulations regarding it than 
all other materials of dress or ornament ; yet, 
somehow, it was generally managed that a piece 
of lace could be used at least for baby's cap, 
laws or no laws. 

The first step toward making lace was the 

hide in the city, or within a mile of it except manufacture of what was known as" cut-work." 

on occasions of public religious ceremonies. 
This law lasted only twenty years. 

Italy and France are the countries where 
most of these laws have been passed, and some 
of them read very strangely. In 1330, in Italy, 
no woman was allowed to wear a dress with 
figures painted on it ; she could only have them 
embroidered. And in 1348, in the same coun- 
try, neither dark green nor black dresses were 
allowed to be worn in the morning. 

During the early portion of 1400 no woman 

This was embroidery with part of the stuff cut 
away so as to show open-work. 

Then came " drawn-work," in which threads 
were pulled from some coarse material, and a 
design or pattern was worked among the re- 
maining threads with a needle and silk or flax. 

Next appeared what we call lace, either worked 
with a needle in shape of points, or made of gold 
or silver threads twisted together. Of course 
this latter lace was very costly, and it was on 
account of the many laws passed against gold 

Copyright, 1904, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 



and silver lace that the attention of artisans 
was turned to making similar trimming, but 
with threads of flax. 

As early as 14 14 much gold lace was made in 

called " Gothic point " because the patterns 
used were like those which prevailed in Gothic 
architecture, — were geometric in design. 

The portrait of the baby with the parrot on 


Photograph by Franz Hanfstangel. 

many of the larger cities of Italy; among those 
leading in this work were Florence, Milan, 
Venice, and Genoa. 

The earliest laces, called "point" because 
shaped in points, — sometimes they were also 

its hand was painted, over three hundred years 
ago, by a very famous Dutch artist named 
Mierevelt. Nobody knows now whose baby it 
was, but I am sure its mother loved it very 
dearly, and I think perhaps her fingers em- 


(From a photograph, by Walker &* Bouta.ll, of the original painting by Largilliere 

in the National Portrait Gallery, London.) 





The name of this great 

broidered the quaint floral designs which show famous than Mierevelt ! 

so plainly on its little coat. artist was Franz Hals. 

Besides the beautiful Gothic point on the cap, You see, fashions had not changed much 

the ruff also is trimmed with it, and it often took when that portrait was painted, for the baby's 


twenty-five yards of lace to edge some of these 
triple-plaited ruffs, as they were called. 

The second baby, the one shown in the fron- 
tispiece, is a little Dutchman (I think the first 
one I have mentioned is an Italian), and this 
picture, too, was painted over three hundred 
years ago by another Dutch artist, even more 

cap, like the one by Mierevelt first mentioned, 
is trimmed with Gothic point. Instead of wear- 
ing a thick, fluffy, all-around ruff, which was 
called a " gorget," this baby wears a half-ruff 
and stomacher of lace. 

I feel sure this was his best dress, for I see 
his mother has put a tuck in it, so that it could 



2 95 

be let down. The nurse seems almost as pleased 
as the baby at having her picture painted. 

In the picture on page 293 the " baby " is a 
little girl, and dressed in French style, but she 
wears a cap. Like the front of her gown, this 
cap was made of very precious lace, called 

Venetian lace had been brought to France, 
and so much admired that Colbert, a minister of 
the time of Louis XIV, had factories started to 
make lace in France, so that the immense sums 
of money people spent for this fabric should be 
kept at home. Then Louis decreed that Alencon 
was the only lace which should be worn by his 
courtiers, but they did not always obey him, 
and still wore lace brought from Italy and Flan- 

The cap little Princess Louisa Mary wears 
was called a " Fontange," and its origin was 
due to an accident. The " Sun King," as they 
called Louis XIV, was hunting one day, and a 
lady in the party, Mademoiselle Fontanges, had 
her hair much rumpled by the wind and the vio- 
lent exercise. She tied her lace-bordered hand- 
kerchief over her head, and it was so becoming 
that the king desired her to arrange her hair 
in the same fashion and wear it at the court 
that evening. The cap was admired, everybody 
copied it, and it was called, in compliment to 
the lady, a " Fontange." 

In this picture we have another parrot, sit- 
ting among the branches of an orange-tree. 

How do you like the cap on page 294? The 
Fontange is quite " out," and this little flat one 
has taken its place. I think I like it best of all, 
but perhaps that is because such a dear, bright- 

faced little girl is wearing it. Though she has 
not much lace on her cap, she has lace on her 
sleeves, in the front of her waist, and on her 
apron. Next to Alencon this is the most costly 
lace France ever produced, and was called Ar- 
gentan. Like Alencon, it was first made in the 
time of Louis XIV (though this portrait was 
painted about 1767). 

All the lace shown in these caps is what is 
known as needle-point lace — that is, lace not 
made with bobbins. Since about the time of the 
French Revolution (1790) none of this Argen- 
tan lace has been made. During the reign of 
Napoleon I, there was a determined effort made 
once more to manufacture Alencon lace, but it 
was not successful. 

We generally think that we have a great 
many things in this century that people did not 
have a century or two ago. So we have; but, 
then, they had things we should not know how 
to use. 

There was a play called " Rhoden and Iris," 
first acted in May, 1631. In it is given a list of 
a lady's " ornaments." I will not name them 
all, but only a selection. I wonder how many 
St. Nicholas readers would know what to do 
with even the half of these! 

Chains, coronets, pendans, bracelets and earrings ; 
Pins, girdles, spangles, embroyderies & rings. 
Shadows, rebatoes, ribbands, ruffs, cuffs, falls, 
Scarfes, feathers, fans, masks, muffs, laces, cauls ; 
Thin tiffanies, cobweb lawn & fardingals; 
Sweet fals, vayles, wimples, glasses, crisping-pins, 
Pots cf ointment, combes, with poking-sticks & bodkins, 
Coyfes, gorgets, fringes, rowles, fillets & hair laces, 
Silks, damasks, velvets, tinsels, cloth of gold, 
Of tissues with colours of a hundred fold. 


By Temple Bailey. 

ONY'S stand 
Hi was on the cold- 
est corner of 
the wind-swept 
street. In sum- 
mer this was very for- 
tunate, for Tony could 
catch the occasional 
coolness of such 
breezes as straggled up from the river ; but in 
winter Tony's fingers grew red and his nose 
blue in the chill, searching blasts. 

There was consolation, however, in the pea- 
nut-roaster. By hugging very close to it, Tony 
could keep himself warm on one side at least. 

In the bitterest weather Tony kept his fruit 
covered. The man who owned the stand did 
not wish to have the fruit freeze, but he was 
not so careful of Tony. He came every morning 
to see that all was in order, to scold Tony until 
the boy was stubbornly resentful, and then to 
leave him through all the tiresome hours until 
night came on, when he returned and sent 
Tony home to a poor little supper and a poor 
little bed. 

Tony could not have stood it if it had not 
been for " Smuggler." Smuggler was a dog. 
Tony had named him Smuggler because he had 
to be smuggled into odd corners whenever the 
man who owned the stand came around ; and 
Smuggler, like the wise, small tramp of the 
streets that he was, took refuge under his piece 
of carpet beneath the stand whenever the dog- 
catchers or a policeman of unfriendly aspect 
walked by or stopped at the peanut-roaster. 

The big policeman on the corner, however, 
kept his eyes and ears closed to the fact that 
there was an unlicensed cur on his beat. Now 
and then the proprietor of a little restaurant 
across the street treated Tony to a bowl of soup 
— thick, hot soup, with two slices of bread. 

So, with these occasional feasts, and with the 
nights of comfort when he and Smuggler lay 

curled close together, Tony managed to live 
without running away, and even to be a little 

But the dog-catchers had their eyes on Smug- 
gler. One very cold morning they swept up 
the street with nets ready, but Smuggler disap- 
peared at the first sound of the yelping, barking 
wagon-load, and there was nothing to be seen 
under the stand but an innocent piece of old 
carpet. When, however, the dog-catchers had 
vanished around the corner, Tony gave a little 
whistle, the carpet became suddenly animated, 
a scrubby head emerged, and, with a glad bark 
of freedom, Smuggler charged down on the 
sparrows in the street. 

And it was then that the Judge drove up. 

" It's just such curs, Johnson," he said, look- 
ing at Smuggler with great disfavor, as the 
small vagabond darted under the horses' feet, 
" that make dogs a menace to the community. 
A good dog," he continued, with his hand on 
the head of "Emperor II," "is a precious pos- 
session, but I have n't any use for common 

" No, suh," grinned the darky coachman, as 
he climbed down. " Dem is fine o'anges, suh ! 
A dozen, did you say, suh ? " 

" Yes," said the Judge. 

Emperor II sat quietly in front of the Judge. 
Between the two there was the dignified under- 
standing that exists when the dog is of noble 
breed and the master of noble instincts. They 
were both of them gentlemen of the old school, 
and if Emperor II rarely received a caress from 
the old man's hand, he knew every inflection of 
the testy, kind old voice, and his tail would 
wave slightly at the mere sound of his master's 

Tony was putting up die fruit stolidly. He 
could not understand why people wanted fruit 
in such weather, nor could he understand why 
so fine a gentleman should be buying fruit at 
his stand instead of patronizing one of the fash- 



ionable and high-priced fruit-stores up town. 
Why did n't he get one of the hot pies at the 
little restaurant across the way? If Tony had 
money, he would buy ten hot pies at one time, 
and then he and Smuggler would eat and eat — 
Just then the dog-catchers executed a flank 
movement. They had spotted Smuggler, and 
they had moved away merely to allay suspicion. 


" Good ! " said the Judge, as he saw the man 
with the net making for Smuggler. 

Tony dropped the bag of oranges and opened 
his arms to his little dog; but the man with the 
net ran between them and reached for Smug- 
gler, who was huddled up under the stand. 

Then, suddenly, there was the rush of a big 
grayish body, and Emperor II, in spite of the 
Judge's efforts to hold him, leaped to the res- 
cue of Smuggler — poor, frightened, cowering 
Smuggler. Emperor stood in front of him, his 
massive old head raised, his white teeth show- 
ing in menace, defying any one to touch him — 
him who wore on his massive silver-mounted 
collar the tag that made 
him a free dog within 
the limits of the city. 

At this the dog- 
catcher stopped. "Call 
off your dog, sir," he 
said to the Judge, re- 
spectfully but firmly. 

Tony stood with his 
two small red hands 
clasped closely to- 
gether, his miserable, 
imploring face turned 
up to the Judge. 

" Please, please ! " he 
gasped, and the tears 
made dirty little rivers 
down his cheeks. 

" Oh, by George ! " 
said the Judge. 

The big policeman 
had strolled up and a 
small crowd had gath- 

" Fine mastiff, sir," 
said the big policeman, 
as he looked at grand 
old Emperor II, who 
still held the catchers 
at bay, "but you will 
have to call him off." 

" Emperor,boy,come 
here ! " commanded 
the Judge, reluctantly. 
Then Emperor'shead 
drooped. He looked 
from the shivering little cur in the corner to his 
master. Then, seeing no sign of relenting in the 
Judge's face, he went to the carriage and leaped 
in, with ears down — a disappointed knight- 

The dog-catchers then carried off the strug- 




gling, yelping Smuggler, and Tony, seeing that 
remonstrance was useless, with dulled, unques- 
tioning submission to more suffering, went on 
putting the fruit into bags. 

The big policeman strolled over to the side 
of the carriage. 

" Poor little chap!" he said. " The dog was 
all he had." 

The Judge cleared his throat. " Such dogs 
are a nuisance," he began ; but his voice wa- 

and went over to the restaurant, and soon a 
waiter brought him a bowl of soup and a hot 
pie ; but the boy was dumb with misery. 

Whirling around in his brain was but one 
thought : Smuggler was gone, and he would 
never see his little dog again. After that no- 
thing mattered. He did n't care whether he 
took care of the stand or not. He would go 
away somewhere and never come back. When 
the man who owned the stand came that night, 


vered a little, and Emperor, noting the kinder 
tone, turned on his master two beautiful, plead- 
ing eyes, and put a paw on the Judge's knee. 

" There 's nothing to be done, I suppose ? " 
mused the Judge, with his eyes on the distant 
wagon of the dog-catchers. 

" No; unless you could go to the pound and 
pay his tax." 

" Humph ! " said the Judge, testily. " My 
dinner is waiting " ; and then Johnson climbed 
in with the fruit, and they drove away. 

The big policeman tried to comfort Tony, 

he scolded and fussed, and finally struck at the 
boy ; but the big policeman interfered. " Stop 
that," he said, " or I '11 run you in." 

All night long, in his miserable bed, the boy 
sobbed and slept, and dreamed that Smuggler 
was back again, and woke to find his arms 
empty. He thought of Smuggler with the other 
yelping, downcast, condemned dogs at the 
pound. He hoped they would not hurt him. 
He wondered if he missed his little master, and 
then he sobbed again as he yearned for the 
small warm body that had lain for so many 




nights at his side. Smuggler might not be 
beautiful, but he was loving, and " He was all 
I had," groaned Tony, with heavy weeping, as 
he sank into troubled slumber. 

In the morning he had made up his mind 
that he would run away. There was country 
somewhere, and perhaps he could find it, and 
sleep in some barn on the hay. No one cared 
for him, no one but Smuggler, and perhaps even 
now Smuggler was about to die. 

Then, in the gray dawn, he went back to the 
fruit-stand, to sit with his head in his hands. 
Toward noon, as he crouched shivering and 
unhappy in his cold corner, there came the 
sound of swift trotting horses, and Tony was 
conscious all at once of a picture in which the 
Judge, with his big fur overcoat, was the main 
feature. At his feet was the great mastiff, his 
head up, his eyes blazing with joyous excitement. 

And what was that in the corner of the seat ? 
Something small and yellow and scrubby ! 
Tony gasped, but before he could cry out, the 
carriage stopped, and the small yellow scrubby 
object bolted out of it straight into Tony's arms! 

It was Smuggler! Little Smuggler, with a 
collar studded with silver nails, in everything 
but size just like the one around Emperor's 
lordly neck, and hanging from the collar was 
the precious tag that made him a licensed dog! 

The Judge's face was beaming as he ex- 
plained, but he could scarcely make himself 
heard, for the little dog was barking, and Em- 
peror bayed excitedly as he leaped back and 
forth from the Judge to Tony. 

"We had a time, I tell you," laughed the 
Judge. " We went down to the pound this 
morning. I could n't tell which was your dog, 
but old Emperor knew him, and we paid the 
fine, and got the license, and bought a collar, 
and here we are ! " 

But the Judge did not tell of his troubled con- 
science of the night before, when, in his easy- 
chair before a glowing fire, with Emperor II 
stretched full length on the rug, the thought of 
the lonely little figure on the windy corner had 
come between him and his book. And when 
the old dog had laid his head on his master's 
knee and looked at him with inquiring, loving 
eyes, the Judge had made a decision. " We '11 
do it the first thing in the morning, old fellow," 

he had said, and Emperor gave him his paw, 
and they shook hands on it. 

At first Tony could not thank the Judge. 
He simply stood there with a glorified look on 
his swarthy face, the wriggling, happy dog in 
his arms, and said over and over again : 

" Smuggler, Smuggler, Smuggler ! " 

The Judge's eyes were watery. He took a 
bill out of his pocket. 

" Here, boy," he said; "spend this on your- 
self and the dog." 

Tony went over to the carriage and put one 
arm around Emperor's great neck. 

"Thank you both — thank you," he began. 

But all at once the Judge was in a great 
hurry. " There, there," he said sharply ; " I '11 



be late at my office." But he smiled as John- 
son gathered up the reins. 

Then, as he drove off, he gave a backward 
glance at the thin little figure and the yellow 
cur, and he laid his hand on Emperor's head 
with one of his rare caresses. 

" By George ! " he said huskily. " By George ! " 

oi nled Vatetiti nei 


This is a story of a real old- 
fashioned " pointed " valentine. 
Not the sharp-pointed kind that 
I am sure you do not send — the 
mean, ugly ones that leave a smart 
behind ! 

No, indeed ; this valentine, 
though sharp-pointed enough 
in truth, brought such joy and 
happiness to one little girl of 
long ago that it was kept as an 
heirloom in her family for more 
than a hundred years. 

Mehitabel Merriwether was 
a bright, merry little maiden 
of twelve, who, in spite 
of her quaint Puritan 
garb and strict up- 
bringing, was as full 
of life and spirits as 
the little lasses of 
to-day. With her pa- 
rents she came over 
from England about 
the year 17 10 and set- 
tled in the colonies, as our 
own dear United States were then called. 

On their hard life of toil and privation we 
need not dwell, but you know of course that 
many things which you are used to having in 
plenty, those pioneer settlers had to do without. 

Among some things which were very scarce 
with the colonists of those early days were 
pins and needles — two very necessary things 
in every household. There were no stores then, 
and ships bringing new supplies of real neces- 
sities were often many months apart. 

Thus it happened that in the little settlement 
town where Mehitabel lived there were, at the 
time of my story, but two needles in the whole 
neighborhood. One of these belonged to good 


V. K. Frye. 

Dame Merriwether, her mo- 
ther, who was very kind about 
lending it to any and all of her 
k neighbors. 
. \ You can imagine, knowing 
as you do how very necessary 
a needle is, how very precious 
that particular needle was ; how 
it was valued as a loan ; and how 
very particular every good dame 
was with it while she had it in her 

Little girls, too, were brought up in 
those days to be very careful, obedi- 
ent, and industrious. They were told 
that " Satan finds some mischief still 
for idle hands to do," and that 
they must not waste too much 
time in useless play. So one 
winter morning, when poor 
Dame Hetherton was laid 
up with the rheuma- 
tism in her knee and 
sorely in need of a needle 
for a few days' mending during 
her enforced idleness, Mehitabel's 
mother did not hesitate to intrust the precious 
needle to the little girl to deliver to her invalid 

Mehitabel started off demurely enough ; but 
it was such a bright, sparkling, bracing morn- 
ing, with the sun shining on the smooth, glis- 
tening snow, that she forgot to be sedate and 
seemly, as befitted her important trust, and be- 
gan to skip and run and slide along just as 
little girls do nowadays. 

But whom should she meet on the way but her 
dearest friend,- Prudence Gillifether, bound also 
on an errand for her mother ; and soon the two 
small maidens were having a merry romp and 
a sliding race along the hard-beaten path. A 



long slide — a slip too far — and little Mehit- 
abel landed unexpectedly in a snowdrift at the 
side of the path ! 

With a surprised " Oh ! " and a gay laugh, 
she was up again in an instant, shaking her 

the lining with little fine stitches so that it would 
have a firm hold. 

" Do you remember to be very careful, 
child," she had said. " Stop and look at it 
every few minutes so as to be sure that it does 

skirts vigorously and brushing off the clinging not work loose." 

snow from her shoulders and arms. And she had forgotten it entirely ! And now 


Suddenly she stopped short and turned back it was gone — the precious needle that meant 

the front hem of her long thick coat. The comfort and neatness to so many just then ! 
needle was gone! Dame Merriwether had Oh, you can well believe how badly little 

placed it there so carefully, running it through Mehitabel felt ; how she called hastily to 




Prudence, and how the two searched and 
scraped, digging up the snow and sifting it 
through their cold little fingers in a vain at- 
tempt to find the needle on the unlucky spot 
where Mehitabel had fallen or in the path 

But it was gone. No sign or trace of it could 
they find anywhere. 

" Oh, Prudence, what shall I do ? It was 
all my fault ! " sobbed the poor child, finally 
breaking down, when all hope was past. " What 
will mother and every one say of such a care- 
less, heedless, disobedient child ? " 

" If only it was anything else but the needle 
— the only needle ! " chimed in Prudence, dis- 

Mehitabel started and brushed off her tears. 
" Oh, Prudence, I have just thought ! " she cried. 
" There is another needle, you know. Let us 
go quick and ask old Dame Calkins to lend us 
hers. If it breaks we can give her another 
when the ship comes in the spring." 

" Dame Calkins ! " gasped Prudence. " Oh, 
Mehitabel, you never would ask her ? Why, 
you know they say she is a witch," she whis- 
pered, glancing around her fearfully. 

" Nonsense ! Father says there are no such 
things as witches any more. I 'm not afraid — 
not much afraid, I mean ! " she amended truth- 
fully. " But, anyway, I am going. It was my 
fault and I must do something, you know." 

" But," objected Prudence, " what is the use ? 
She will not lend it, anyway. Nobody ever 
thinks of asking her for anything." 

" Then how can they tell she will not lend?" 
insisted Mehitabel. " I am going to ask her, 
anyhow, and tell her how I lost mine, and how 
badly we all need it. Maybe she really wants 
to lend things if she had a chance. Oh, I must 
do something!" And resolute little Mehitabel 
turned around and started toward Dame Cal- 
kins's little hut at the far end of the settlement. 
" Won't you come with me, Prudence ? " she 
called back appealingly over her shoulder. 

" No, indeed ! I would not go near old Dame 
Calkins for anything. Besides, I must hurry 
about mother's errand. Oh, Mehitabel, I would 
n't be you for anything ! " was her parting com- 

Brave little Mehitabel kept straight on her 

way, though her heart grew heavier and heavier 
and thumped harder and harder the nearer she 
drew to the cottage. 

When she reached the lonely little hut, she 
stood still a moment to gather courage, then 
knocked loudly on the door. Even then she 
was tempted to run away as fast as she could 
before it was too late ; but she shut her lips and 
fists tight and stood her ground. Soon she heard 
hobbling steps and the tap, tap of a stick 
approaching. The door was flung open, and a 
little old woman, with a stern, frowning face, 
stood before her, leaning slightly on a rude 

" Well ! " she snapped. " What do you want 
here ? " 

Mehitabel drew a deep breath, and started in 
bravely and right to the point. 

" Oh, please, Dame Calkins, won't you lend 
me your needle just for a few days ? I have 
lost mother's; and oh, I don't know what to 
do if I can't have yours awhile. It was all 
my own fault, too. I was a careless, heedless, 
disobedient child. But, indeed, I am very, very 
sorry, and if you will lend me yours I will be 
so very careful. You need not be a bit afraid 
of my losing it too." 

Dame Calkins said nothing for what seemed 
a long time. She just stood with her face 
screwed up in a frown, looking hard at poor 
little Mehitabel. She saw the trembling lips 
and clenched hands, and she saw, too, the brave, 
eager light of determination shining in her blue 
eyes, in which the tears stood very near the 

Suddenly she put out her wrinkled hand and 
patted the little hooded head. " Come in, my 
dear ! " she jerked out at last. " Come in and 
sit you down by the fire." 

Mehitabel came in obediently, and sat down 
on the rude settle before the fire. 

" So you want my needle ? " went on the 
dame, hobbling jerkily over to the seat opposite 
her. " Do you know what day this is ? " 

" No, ma'am," answered Mehitabel, rather 

Dame Calkins jerked herself into an easy 
position before answering. She did everything 
by jerks — walked, talked, and moved. 

"Well, it 's the 14th of February — St. Val- 




entine's day," she began in breathless little 
jerks, — " and back in old England, — Scalford 
way in Leicestershire, — the little maidens go to 
the different houses — on Valentine's day — and 
ask for pins and points. 

' Good-morrow, Valentine ! 
All the pins and points are mine,' 

they say. And to the first one — that so seeks 
on Valentine morning — we must give what 
pins and points they want. So you see — 
mayhap I will have to lend you my needle — 
for you are the first to seek — for pins or points 
— to-day — or for many a day for that matter!" 
she added grimly. 

" Oh, will you really let me have it, dear, 
kind dame ? Oh, how good you are ! " cried 
little Mehitabel; and forgetting everything in 
her joyful relief, she jumped up and threw her 
arms around the old woman's neck, kissing her 
withered cheek. 

" Why, bless your heart ! " exclaimed the 
startled dame. " You are a brave little girl — 
and I like courage. We need it in this new 
country. Ah, I had one like you once — a 
bonny lass — well-a-day ! well-a-day ! " And 
she drew a deep sobbing sigh that shook her 
thin frame. 

Mehitabel patted her bent shoulder comfort- 

" I will come over and see you often, if you 
would like to have me," she said softly. 

"Yes, child, come and see me. — I need you 

— as the wilted plant needs the moisture. — But 
I 'm forgetting the needle. — Here it is, stuck in 
this piece of card. — Put it away carefully now 

— so. — I wish I had a plum bun to give you, 
child. — We always used to get a plum bun — 
with our pins and points — on Valentine day 

— down Scalford way. Good-by now — run 
home to mother." 

An hour later, little Mehitabel, having deliv- 
ered the needle safely to Dame Hetherton, was 
telling her mother all about how she lost one 
needle and found another. 

" Dear child," said good Dame Merriwether, 
" Providence chooseth strange ways to work out 
its plans. Do you go often to see poor, lonely 
old Dame Calkins, and mayhap we will win her 
back to friendliness and cheer. Years ago, her 
only son and sole remaining child strayed into 
evil paths, and was never seen near his home 
again. Cold glances and evil tongues soured 
the old woman, and she came to the colonies 
to escape them. But her story followed her, 
the cruel tongues kept on, and she grew cold 
and defiant. She would notice none of us. 
But, please God, we '11 win her back to neigh- 
borliness again." 

And they did. 

This is how the descendants of Great-grand- 
mother Mehitabel came so long to cherish a 
queer discolored card that bore the pointed 
valentine and looked very much like this : 

Cioocl J^or row Va lent ioe! 

#U therms f 

<T l;oir>1& are 

mi n e 




By P. W. Humphreys. 

When young Orang heard the steady tramp 
of feet about his forest home one morning, he 
little thought there was cause for alarm. His 
home was in one of the thick forests that cover 
the low, damp lands in the island of Borneo — 
forest depths human feet seldom tread. His 
father was an immense orang-utan known as 
" The Wild Man of the Woods " by the natives 
of Borneo. As he measured nearly seven feet 
in height, and was heavier than many human 
giants, he made so much noise, in walking about 
on the thick underbrush with Orang's mother, 
that there was nothing unusual in the ominous 
tramping on that fateful morning. 

The steps came nearer, the underbrush crack- 
ling more noisily. Orang raised his strangely 
manlike yet baby face to greet his parents. 
But, instead of receiving his usual breakfast of 
forest fruits and nuts, he was nearly smothered 
under a heavy blanket which was thrown over 
his head and drawn securely about his throat. 
A few piteous cries for help, — quelled before 
they could reach even his mother's keen ears, 
— a whoop of delight from his captor, and poor 
little Orang was hurried away from his forest 
home. Then came a weary journey, which 
seemed interminable to the homesick, frightened 

baby orang-utan, until at last he reached Ger- 
many and was placed in a great animal-house 
at Hamburg, to await the arrival of the ship 
which was to take him across the ocean to an 
American zoo. 

Like other members of the intelligent, family 
of apes, Orang soon became fond of his captors, 
and especially fond of the small black boy who 
claimed him as his own particular pet. The 
little negro boy who first discovered Orang and 
threw the blanket over his head, before yelling 
with joy to tell the other hunters of his capture, 
resembled very much the natives of the African 
jungles; but any one who talked with Jeff soon 
discoverea that he was not born in Africa. He 
had had many adventures in his short life, and 
was a remarkably intelligent black boy. He 
was born in Chicago, in the year that Grover 
Cleveland was first elected President of the 
United States. He was left an orphan when 
only five years old, and was given a home by an 
Irishman in the employ of a Chicago animal- 
trainer. His full name was Jefferson Davis Cleve- 
land McKinley O'Toole. For many years it was 
a trial to Jeff to have this glorious procession ab- 
breviated. Although his mother named him, 
modestly, Jefferson Davis Cleveland, O'Toole 



was the name of the Chicagoan of whose family 
he became a member on the death of his 
parents. No one was ever able to determine 
how he came by the name of McKinley ; but 
for years Jefferson Davis Cleveland McKinley 
O'Toole insisted upon the use of his " whole 

When Carl Hagenbeck, the proprietor of the 
zoological exhibition at the World's Fair, sent 
buyers to London and to Hamburg for his spe- 
cimens, Mr. O'Toole and his little helper, " Black 
Jeff," went to Hamburg with them, and they 
were sent on an expedition to Africa for wild 

After the first trip, Jeff became an expert in 
animal-hunting ; and although he still looks like 
a comical overgrown child, being small for his 
age, — almost a dwarf, in fact, — he has had 
many strange adventures. He proudly claims 
the distinction of having accompanied expedi- 
tions sent out by Van Ambrugh, Carl Hagen- 
beck, Frank Buckland, Mr. Bartlett, and other 
zoological collectors and great circus and me- 
nagerie proprietors. 

Jeff and Orang became great friends during 

violin, sometimes with an occasional parrot or 
two or a friendly little monkey as audience, but 
always with the faithful Orang at his side. 

After their arrival at Hamburg, Jeff taught 
Orang so many tricks and exercised such an 
influence in the care of the vicious chim- 
panzees and baboons, as well as of the more 
docile apes and South American monkeys, that 
he was given certain duties in the monkey- 
house instead of being sent on another expedi- 
tion. It was finally decided that he should ac- 
company the monkeys on the animal-ship dur- 
ing their trip to the United States. Jeff named 
his pet " Orang," and, jokingly, always insisted 
that the captive was a real boy, and he spelled 
his pet's name with the apostrophe, thus: 

The majority of the freight-ships that come 
to ports of the United States from South Amer- 
ica, Africa, Asia, or Europe bring a few wild 
beasts that have been secured in the interior 
and brought to the ports at which the vessels 
touched. But it is mainly at Hamburg, in Ger- 
many, that attempts have been made, during 
recent years, to secure regular shipments. One 


the trip from the island of Borneo to Hamburg. 
The ape soon learned to consider the black 
boy his companion instead of his captor, and 
often Jeff would be found sitting on a box on 
the upper deck, scraping away at his beloved 
Vol. XXXI.— 39-40. 

reason is that, when consignments are desired 
for American zoos, the animals can be collected 
at Hamburg and shipped free of duty. At the 
time of the World's Fair in Chicago, Carl Ha- 
genbeck made some of the largest purchases of 




wild animals ever recorded for this country. 
London as well as Hamburg helped to supply 
the great stock of animals necessary for his Chi- 
cago exhibits at the Fair grounds and in New 
York. At that time there was a great revival 
in the ancient industry known as the " animal 
trade," but during the past eight or ten years the 
business has somewhat decreased. Hamburg 
is still the chief shipping center, but the animal- 
ships are seldom so well loaded with interesting 
wild beasts as they were during 1893. 

Everything connected with the ship that left 
Hamburg with Jeff and his pet, Orang, seemed 

very wonderful to 
the black 
boy, who 
had long 


Jeff and Orang became quite familiar with 
the animals in the wonderful stables at Ham- 
burg. Jeff's knowledge of the wild beasts, and 
of the best methods of keeping them quiet and 
good-natured, made him invaluable to the 
dealers, and, wherever he was found, his orang- 
utan was near by. 

When the ship arrived at the Hamburg wharf 
there were anxious moments at the stables. 
The passage leading from the stables is narrow, 
for convenience in blocking the escape of any 
captive that succeeds in breaking away from the 
dealers. But, frequently, the straitness of the 
passageway makes it very difficult to take the 
huge iron cage of a refractory elephant or other 
large beast down to the ship. 

The animals from the ground floor of the 
stables were the first to 
board the vessel. Very 


hunted animals in the wilds, but had never 
crossed the ocean with a ship-load. The im- 
mense animal-house at the Hamburg wharf has 
two departments, known as the " store " and the 
" stables." The stables, where the wild beasts 
are confined while awaiting the arrival of the 
ship, are situated at some distance from the store, 
and the two are connected by a street or court. 
Down this passage every animal must be driven, 
or carried in its cage, before it can be deposited 
in safe quarters in the store or on the ship. 

few of them were in cages ; they were simply tied 
to the walls and mangers, or they were stalled 
in loose-boxes. Among them were antelopes, 
deer, kangaroos, and a few curious mountain- 
sheep. All these animals were loaded upon 
the ship without difficulty. The majority of 
them had quarters on shipboard similar to those 
in the stables — simply stalls instead of cages. 

There was often great difficulty in the transit 
of the large iron cages. The hold of the ship, 
where these wild animals are stored, is kept warm 




and dark — conditions which prevailed in the 
warm upper story of the stables, and constituted 
important elements in the comfort of nervous 
animals, the night-feeders, and the savage Felicia, 
or cat-tribe. The civet-cats, the pumas, and the 
panthers are especially fierce when taken from the 
stables to the ship. Their cages are kept boarded 
over at the sides and back. At the first move- 
ment of the cage, or at the approach of a dealer 
to examine the front of the cage, the animal 
inside becomes furious. There are claws crash- 
ing upon the bars, sharp, wrathful growls, and 
glimpses of white teeth and yellow-green eyes. 
This proved very interesting to Jeff, who had 
studied the prisoners when they were free in 
their jungle homes. 

It is seldom that serious accidents occur in 
loading the animal-ship. There were two mis- 
haps, however, that might have been serious 
but for the prompt action of the little Chicago 
colored boy. A tiger from India was being 
trundled through the narrow passage leading 
from the stables. The huge cage was difficult 
to handle. The bumping of the structure 
against the sides of the passage not only weak- 
ened it, but enraged the tiger. Using his back 
in a powerful arch, he burst the cage, and ran 
growling down the passage. The tiger — one 
of the fiercest ever captured — had been caged 
only a short time. He was now as strong as 
ever, and twice as ferocious. The crew of the 
animal-ship, as well as the dealers, were so para- 
lyzed with terror that, for a moment, no effort 
was made to stop his flight. 

But Jeff remembered the prompt action of a 
hunter while capturing a tiger that had escaped 
from a cage in India. He grasped a crowbar and 
started for the animal. At first sight of the de- 
termined black boy with his crowbar, the tiger 
seemed inclined to attack him. It was a terri- 
ble moment, and death was very near to the 
daring boy. But he advanced unflinchingly, 
until at last the tiger, with a snarl of rage, 
turned, ran back up the passage, and again en- 
tered his cage, curling down in its darkened 
corner, but continuing to snarl, while he was 
speedily secured by the dealers. 

For three days and four nights the ship that 
was to sail for America remained at Hamburg, 
taking on board the animals and their neces- 

sary food. During nearly the whole 
time, a savage baboon was at large. 
He escaped from his cage on the 
night of the ship's arrival. The 
baboons were among 
the first to be taken 
onboard. One of the 
most hideous of them 
broke loose, opened the 
window of the room in 
which it was confined, and 
leaped to the roof of an 
opposite house. It hid be- 
hind the chimneys, enjoy- 
ing their warmth and chattered defiance at its 
pursuers. A row of dwelling-houses stood di- 
rectly back of the stables, and the entire street 
was soon in commotion. The children of Ham- 
burg were afraid to go to bed. The crafty fel- 
low escaped capture during the entire three 
days. It was thought the ship would have to 
sail without him, for while he found it easy to 
walk on the narrow ledges and steep inclines 
of the roofs, the men could not follow him, and 
it was always easy to hide among the chimneys 
from his pursuers. 

It was Jeff who captured him, at last, by climb- 
ing along the roofs barefoot, with a rope secured 
from waist to chimney for safety. Even then 
there would have been difficulty in attracting 
the attention of the baboon until the lasso could 
be used, had it not been for the presence of 
Orang, who was also secured to his waist by a 
rope, and was sent along the edge of the roof 
after the fugitive. 

The animals soon quieted after the ship had 
left the Hamburg wharves and departed on its 
journey across the ocean. 

It was marvelous to Jeff, learned as he was 
in the lore of the cages, to observe how the 
dealers who had invested their money in so 
many beasts that were liable to quick disease 
and almost sudden death could rest content to 
see their charges so closely confined. There 
appeared to be scarcely room for any animal to 
turn. But he came to understand that close 
packing of the cages, on a voyage such as that, 
was imperative. The immense quantities of 
food that were needed to last throughout the 
voyage took up much space. One class of cap- 





tives could not survive unless there was plenty 
of hay and grain ; another must have fruits and 
vegetables; and as for the carnivorous beasts, 
not only did they require refrigerators filled 
with meat, but the very deck was alive with 
calves, sheep, and poultry. 

There were noisy passengers on board the 
animal-ship, and the noisiest of all were not the 
tigers, with their terrifying roars, or the mon- 
keys, with their incessant chattering. The dis- 
turbers of the peace were the birds — thousands 
of them that seemingly could never keep quiet. 
Canaries from the Hartz Mountains, magpies 
and parrots, birds from the tropics, with rich 
plumage and strident voices, screamed, talked, 
and sang until the very elephants — who were 
the wisest of the whole ship's company — could 
scarcely sleep. 

One bird, that was only half a bird at best, 
almost caused a stampede. There was a startled 
cry, one morning, from a member of the crew. 

" Man overboard ! " he shouted, as a resound- 
ing splash echoed through the ship from the 
water at her port side. 

The keepers forgot their charges for a time. 
They rushed to the side of the boat to rescue 
the drowning sailor. They discovered only a 
penguin, diving and swimming about in the 
water with the greatest delight. The bird had 
escaped from its cage, waddled to the side of the 
ship, and, with the sound of a falling man, had 
plunged overboard in search of fish, his natu- 
ral prey. The bird-fisherman was captured and 
returned to his cage before he had secured his 
breakfast from the sea. Some days later, a seal 
escaped and dived into the ocean. It would 

probably have been lost had not one of the 
animal-dealers recalled the experience of the 
famous Dr. Rae, who spent the days of his boy- 
hood in the Orkney and Shetland Islands. Dr. 
Rae says that, both there and in the regions 
around the frozen rim of the northern ocean, it 
is a matter of common experience that seals 
will follow a boat in which music is played. 
One of the musical sailors made the test, and 
the seal was easily captured. 

Various musical instruments are found on an 
animal-ship, for nearly all beasts are strongly 
influenced by melody. 

On the arrival of the ship at Philadelphia, the 
two strangely assorted friends parted. Orang, 
his apostrophe no longer retained by the ad- 
miring Jeff, became the inmate of a zoo, where 
they cherished all the rest of him because, as 
an orang-utan with a label on his cage, he 
was prized as a wonderfully rare " specimen " 
all the way from Borneo. O'Toole, even his 
sharp wits unequal to the task of compelling 
the rest of the world to give him the complete 
assortment of names he claimed for his own, 
continued to be plain "Jeff." But the world of 
animal-tamers knew little black Jeff for a born 
keeper of the untamed beasts ; and so, in va- 
rious parts of the earth, he earned, at his chosen 
calling, a good living and much respect. 

Every year there come some ships from Ham- 
burg, bringing captives, few or many. But, 
among all the voyages, the most curious and 
exciting adventures that ever befell man or 
beast were those which happened when Jeff 
and Orang, devoted comrades, sailed for Ham- 
burg on their way from distant Borneo. 


<§}re&t bi§ shif} 6,nd a^reai bi^ crew 
'Were. [Drovisioned <\nd commanded by 

Ce^t&inoSohnny Q 

)And f&r away they suited, by icebergs 

o,nd through snow, 
Till they c^me to 6.n isle where 

the /YVin^o monkeys Sijow 

And Johnny filled his shib - _: ^^fc I»rS 

With the monkeys on thai tri|D^^.jK^||, 

Then he sailed 6,w6y for home^^^^fer 

And he nevermore did ro6.m-. 

IFor Min^o monkey sold - 

iFor much money in §ood Sold. 

~\ t ? 




fcp?^'% $S% J^fc ^fa ^|| 

V ^i. Ql2 ')t' ^So.X V.So/J '•Ci, s ®/(? ^i 30 *; 

S r ( Sk'SS® $*'^vS> ^.vp* *k"'-M> mS.Zyb 



By Malcolm Douglas. 

When the donkey saw the zebra 
He began to switch his tail. 
"Well, I never!" was his comment; 
" Here 's a mule that 's been to jail ! " 


By Edwin L. Sabin. 

Mr. Jones struck oil, 

And his men, so they say, 

Struck for eight hours' work 
And for nine hours' pay. 

Jones struck his horse, 
And struck for the spot ; 

The horse, struck with fear, 
At once struck a trot. 

The clock had struck five ; 

He was wet to the skin ; 
From his blue flannel shirt 

The color struck in. 

Some baseball players 

Struck up a shout ; 
The batter struck a pose, 

And then he struck out. 

Jones struck a bargain, 
But soon struck a snag — 

For it struck off his profits, 
And he struck his flag. 

And now you have struck 
On this history true, 

How, striking a balance, 
Does it all strike you ? 

By Mary Dawson. 

N (OWADAYS we use 
l/,\ gloves only to com- 
plete our formal 
dress, or to protect 
our hands from cold, 
and, possibly, from the cuts, 
bruises, or scratches of certain kinds of 
rough labor. But in the olden days the glove, 
although it served these purposes too, played a 
very superior part. It might almost have been 
called an important "personage" in those times, 
for on many occasions it acted instead of a per- 
son. Sometimes it played the part of a king or 
earl; sometimes it did the work of a policeman; 
now and then it gave away large properties, 
even whole towns and rich tracts of land. It 
sounds like a fairy-tale, does it not ? But it is 
every word true. 

This is the way it came about. 
When gloves were first invented, they were 
used exactly as we use them now — to keep the 
hands warm, and to keep them from all sorts of 
disagreeable blisters, burns, and chapping. The 
ancient Persians wore them at a very early 
period, and boys and girls who have read Vir- 
gil's "^Eneid" will remember that the Ro- 

man pugilists wore them in their pommeling 

Gloves as first invented should rightly be 
called mittens, for they had no fingers. Fingers 
were a novelty introduced by the Romans of later 
days, when Rome became luxurious and foppish. 

As soon as the finger gloves (they called them 
digitalia, from digitus, a finger) were introduced, 
the Romans used them for state occasions, 
wearing the mitten for every day. Poor people 
had only mittens, when, indeed, they had any 
hand-coverings at all. 

From the older countries, such as Italy and 
Greece, the fashion of wearing gloves spread to 
newer lands, reaching England about the time 
of the Saxon kings. The word glof (a queer 
way the Saxons had of spelling glove) means a 
hand-covering, and occurs very often in the 
writings of those times. The beautiful old illu- 
minated books which have luckily been pre- 
served for us show the hands of bishops and 
other churchmen incased in gloves which are 
often ornamented with dazzling rings. 

Kings and queens of that day all wore gloves. 
At least, we find their marble effigies, on the 
tombs in Westminster Abbey, with gloved hands. 


3 l 3 

The gloves of the middle 
ages were very different from 
those we have now. You could 
not then go into a shop and 
order a dozen pairs, at a cer- 
tain price, to fit you perfectly. 
But then, you might have 
them exquisitely embroidered 
in silk of many colors and 
bordered with a deep fringe. 
Perhaps, too, the design of 
the embroidery of those you 
bought would be entirely ori- 
ginal, intended for you and 
shared by no one else. 

Naturally, the gloves of the 
kings were very fine and costly 
covering, with embroidery of 
gold and silver and circlets 
of precious stones. Bishops 
and the clergy wore white 
linen gloves, symbolic of in- 
nocence, or red silk hand-gear 
with symbols worked in gold 
thread. The popes sometimes 
wore them of white silk deco- 
rated with pearls. Grave peo- 
ple wore dignified patterns 
without any gorgeousness, and 
those who liked to make a 
brave show chose very elabo- 
rate or gaudy affairs. 

In the early days everything 
was not regulated for the peo- 
ple, as it is now, by the gov- 
ernment and the law-courts. 
Europe was still young then, 
and people had rough-and- 
ready means of dealing with 
one another, of buying and 
selling or giving goods and 
property, and settling dis- 
putes. A glove, as it was very 
close indeed to a man's hand, 
came in course of time to be 
looked upon as taking the 
place of the hand itself, and, 
as I have said, it sometimes 
took the man's place and was 
made to represent him. 





For example : To open a fair it was necessary 
then to have the consent and protection of the 
great lord in whose country it was going to be 
held. Those who wished to open the fair would 
come to the nobleman and petition him to be 
present. He might be very busy, or bored at 
the idea of having to go,- yet he would know 
that it must be opened or his people would be 
discontented. So he would say to the leaders 
of the people : " No, my trusty fellows; I can't 
open the fair in person, but I will send my glove 
to do it. You all know my glove. Nobody 
has one like it in the country. It is the one 
my lady mother embroidered for me in colored 
silks and silver wire, and it has a deep violet 
fringe. You can hang it above the entrance of 
your fair grounds as a sign that you are acting 
with my permission. If any one disputes your 
right or touches his master's glove, I will attend 
to him, that 's all." So the glove would travel 
in state to open the fair. 

In the thirteenth century a powerful earl is 
said to have delivered up a great tract of land 
to the King of France by promising him the 
land and sending or giving his glove as pledge 
of good faith. 

In fact, now and then some stag-hunting 


lord who, when a boy, had been fonder of war 
and the chase than of writing and reading, 
would fling down his glove among the legal 
papers drawn up for arranging some business 
matter, and say that that was his way of sign- 

ing papers and giving his signature. The 
glove would be duly locked away with the pa- 
pers, to show that the lord of the land had 
agreed to the transaction. 

We still say " throwing the gauntlet," mean- 
ing a challenge, even though we are only defy- 
ing a schoolmate to " spell us down " in a 
spelling-bee. Of course, the gauntlet is a big 
glove. The expression is now all that is left 
of a very important custom of the rough-and- 
ready age of which we have been speaking — 
the trial by combat. 

For when a man of the medieval times 
considered himself wronged in any way by a 
neighbor, he very often decided to attend to 
punishing his enemy himself. He began mat- 
ters by throwing down his glove before his 
enemy. The enemy, if he had any spirit, never 
allowed it to lie there, of course, for to do that 
was supposed to prove that the challenger was 
in the right and that the other feared to put 
his fate to the touch. If a lady was in dis- 
tress, she asked some man friend to fight for 
her, which he was usually glad to do. As soon 
as the glove was picked up, the two men ar- 
ranged a battle, which was regulated by fixed 
rules. This fight was recognized as a legal 
trial. It had to be settled pretty 
promptly one way or the other, 
as they never stopped fighting 
until one of the champions was 
killed or badly hurt, or admitted 
that he was in the wrong. The 
champion who came off victori- 
ous was said to be the innocent 
person, for the true knight went 
to battle with the firm belief that 
God would strengthen his arm 
and direct his spear or sword. 

A knight in the days of chiv- 
alry, if he disgraced himself and 
his knighthood, had his gloves 
taken away from him, just as he 
had the spurs knocked from his 
heels, as a punishment. 
So many gloves were made in England, and 
so many people were employed in making 
them, that in the fourteenth century the glove- 
makers formed one of the city companies, or 
guilds, and drew up a set of rules for govern- 




ing their men, which were thought important 
enough to be laid before the king and approved 
by him. 

One of the rules was that if any glove-maker 
was found doing bad work, that is, cutting or 

of a family, if his wife and daughters followed 
the fashions at all, allowed them a certain sum 
of money to buy gloves. This was called " glove- 
money," just as we still say "pin-money" (and, 
by the way, the allowance made to ladies to 


sewing badly or using bad material, he should 
be brought before the mayor and aldermen. If, 
when this happened, he was sorry and promised 
to do better in the future, he might be let off 
with a reprimand. But if unrepentant, he would 
be banished from the city and was not allowed 
to return. 

Queen Elizabeth was very vain of her pretty 
hands, and so was extremely fastidious in the 
choice of her gloves. She must have had as 
many pairs of them, in that wonderful wardrobe 
of hers, as she had blond wigs. The reason she 
had so many gloves was that, everywhere she 
went, people, knowing that she liked beautiful 
hand-wear, gave it to her. She received gloves 
of silk or leather, embroidered or jewel-studded, 
trimmed with a multitude of little gold buttons, 
and deliciously perfumed. 

These sweet or perfumed gloves were much 
liked by ladies of Elizabeth's reign. The father 

buy pins in former times must have been larger 
than it is nowadays, for pins were then quite 

A gentleman who was in the habit of going 
to Elizabeth's court told his friends that in one 
of her Majesty's audiences the Maiden Queen 
pulled her gloves off and on more than a hun- 
dred times. This was to let those present see 
and admire her hands. Think of the little van- 
ities of so great a woman ! 

For many hundred years gloves have played 
a part in the court life of various countries, and 
many are the interesting glove-relics that have 
come down to this day, and that are now care- 
fully preserved in museums. Among these there 
is a plain buff-colored pair of gloves which be- 
longed to the martyr king, Charles I. These he 
presented to the great-great-grandfather of the 
present owner. This gentleman had got together 
a troop of horse to help his sovereign, who was 




then in dire distress, and the king, meeting him belonged to the same monarch, and these are 

at the head of his men, drew the gloves from beautifully wrought. 

his hands and gave them to his faithful follower. He wore a very rich and kingly pair upon the 


When these gloves were given, the times were 
troublous. Poor King Charles had other mat- 
ters, more important than clothes, to think about, 
and therefore his gauntlets show no sign of trim- 
ming. But we have other pairs which once 

day of his execution. For, instead of making a 
careless or slovenly appearance on the scaffold, 
as some less noble person might have done, this 
king went to it dressed in all his state. He told 
his attendants to dress him " as trimly as might 




be," and gave particular directions about each any subject who does not think the new king is 

article of clothing. the true king to stand forward and pick up his 

Several pairs of gloves once the property of glove, and fight him to the death. I have never 

Charles II can also be seen in the museums and heard that anybody accepted the challenge, 

collections. Gloves at one time were very popular as 

As for the pretty legends and historic stories New Year's gifts. One lady brought a gift of 

which cluster about gloves, a big 
book would be needed to give them 
all. Richard Cceur de Lion, return- 
ing from Palestine, was recognized 
by a glove hanging at the girdle of 
his squire, and was taken prisoner. 

There were many delightful cour- 
tesies in former times connected 
with gloves. Lovers exchanged 
them, and the knight who rode 
forth to war had one fluttering from 
his helmet. When a maiden died, 
a pair of white gloves, the white 
being emblematic of innocence, was 
laid upon her bier. Or, if a judge 
summoned his court, and there 
were no criminals to be tried or 
cases to be settled, the judge was 
given a snow-white pair of gloves. 

The etiquette of crowning a king 
once required that the new sover- 
eign should have his knight to 
champion his cause. Imagine to 
yourself the ending of a coronation 
banquet in Westminster Hall. The 
king is there, and his family and his court. 
Suddenly a trumpet blares out through the 
Hall, and into the place dashes a knight on 
a fine horse and gallantly armed, spear in rest. 
This is the king's champion. He proceeds 
to pull off his long glove, and casts it down 
upon the floor, and, in a loud voice, calls upon 


this kind to the great Sir Thomas 
More. Unfortunately, she filled it 
with gold coins. Sir Thomas had 
decided a law case in her favor, and 
she wished to show her gratitude 
in this way. But Sir Thomas was 
too high-minded and honorable a 
man to take money in the adminis- 
tration of justice. " It would be 
against courtesy," he said, " to re- 
fuse the lady's gift. I will therefore 
keep the gloves, but the lining she 
must give to some one else." By 
the lining Sir Thomas meant, of 
course, the gold with which she 
had filled them. 

The Portuguese say of a man, 
''He wears no gloves," when they 
mean that he is honest and honor- 
able and above suspicion. 

There is still another phrase 
which comes down to us from the 
days when gloves were used in more 
ways than they now are. Have n't 
you sometimes heard it said, when a 
young lady has discarded her lover, that she 
" gave him the mitten " ? This was first said in 
the early times when lovers exchanged gloves as 
a sign that they intended to marry each other. 
When a girl broke her engagement she gave back 
the glove or mitten. We still use the phrase, 
although gloves are no longer exchanged. 


t<'~, ■- 



By L. R. McCabe. 

UCH of George 
Washington's firm 
strength of charac- 
ter was due to his 
splendid ancestry, 
as the following 
little anecdote will 
testify : 

While reconnoi- 
tering in West- 
moreland County, Virginia, one of General 
Washington's officers chanced upon a fine team 
of horses driven before a plow by a burly slave. 
Finer animals he had never seen. When his 







eyes had feasted on their beauty, he cried to 
the driver : 

" Hello, good fellow ! I must have those 
horses. They are just such animals as I have 
been looking for." 

The black man grinned, rolled up the whites 
of his eyes, put the lash to the horses' flanks, 
and turned up another furrow in the rich soil. 
The officer waited until he had finished the 
row ; then, throwing back his cavalier cloak, 
the ensign of rank dazzled the slave's eyes. 

" Better see missis ! Better see missis ! " he 
cried, waving his hand to the south, where 
above the cedar growth rose the towers of a fine 

3 i8 


3 l 9 

old Virginia mansion. The officer turned up the 
carriage road and soon was rapping the great 
brass knocker of the front door. Quickly the 
door swung on its ponderous hinges, and a 
grave, majestic-looking woman confronted the 
visitor with an air of inquiry. 

" Madam," said the officer, doffing his cap, 
and overcome by her dignity, " I have come to 
claim your horses in the name of the govern- 

" My horses ? " said she, bending upon him 
a pair of eyes born to command. " Sir, you can- 
not have them. My crops are out and I need 
my horses in the field." 

" I am sorry," said the officer," but I musthave 
them, madam. Such are the orders of my chief." 

"Your chief? Who is your chief, pray?" 
she demanded with restrained warmth. 

" The commander of the American army — 
General George Washington," replied the other,, 
squaring his shoulders and swelling with pride. 
A smile of triumph softened the sternness of 
the woman's handsome features. " Tell George 
Washington," said she, " that his mother says 
he cannot have her horses." 

With a humble apology, the officer turned 
away, convinced that he had found the source 
of his chief's decision and self-command. 

And did Washington order his officer to re- 
turn and make his mother give up her horses ? 
No ; he listened to the report in silence, then> 
with one of his rare smiles, he bowed his head. 


N an interesting 
contribution to 
the " Century 
Magazine " for 
January, 1898, 
Martha Little- 
field Phillips 
relates the fol- 
lowing anec- 
dote of her 
who was the 
daughter of the famous Revolutionary general, 
Nathanael Greene : 

" One of the great events of my early life," 
said my grandmother, " was my first interview 
with General Washington. But a faint sugges- 
tion now survives of the love and reverence for 
Washington which inspired the children of the 
Revolution. These sentiments were exception- 
ally strong in my brothers and sisters and my- 
self, because in addition to the sentiment of 
patriotism, there was the personal regard we 
held for Washington as our father's intimate 
friend and immediate commander. 

" My mother had deeply imbued me with the 
honor in store when we were to visit Mount 
Vernon, and had drilled my behavior to meet 

all the probable requirements of the occasion. 
I was, for example, to rise from my seat for 
presentation to General Washington, and after 
tendering him my profoundest courtesy, stand 
at ease, and modestly answer all his possible 
questions, but at the same time keep religiously 
in the background, where all the good little 
girls of that day were socially referred. 

" The eventful day came, and I was taken 
by my mother to Mount Vernon to make the 
longed-for visit. We were graciously welcomed 
by Mrs. Washington ; but my heart was so thick 
with fluttering, and my tongue so tied, that I 
made but a stuttering semblance of response 
to her kindly questions. At length the door 
opened, and General Washington entered the 
room. I felt my mother's critical eyes, and 
advanced with the intention of making a. 
courtesy and declaiming the little address previ- 
ously taught me ; instead of which, I dropped 
on my knees at Washington's feet, and burst 
into tears. Washington stooped and tenderly 
raised me, saying with a smile, ' Why, what is 
the matter with this foolish child ? ' The words 
do not have a tender sound, but language 
may not convey the gentleness of his manner 
and the winning softness of his voice, as he 
wiped away my tears with his own handker- 



chief, kissed my forehead, and led me to a 
seat as he might a young princess. He sat be- 
side me, and with laughing jests, brought down 
to the plane of my appreciation, banished my 
sins from my eyes, rescued me from humiliation, 

on the themes of my daily life, and won me 
into revelations of my hopes and fears. It has 
always impressed me as a quaint and pretty 
picture — that of the famous warrior, statesman, 
and patriot turning from great affairs, and lend- 


and brought me back to composure. He 
kept me with him while in the drawing-room, 
had me placed beside him at the dinner-table, 
and with his own hands heaped good things 
on my plate. After dinner he took me to 
walk in the garden, and drew me into talks 

ing himself to the task of making the happiness 
and charming the confidence of a shy and 
frightened child. And so proud and happy was 
the little girl thus made that, seventy-five years 
afterward, she lives, with tears of joy in her 
eyes, to tell the story to her granddaughter." 

<™illllM)|' "V" !"■?■■:■;. m ; ■■■",■ '■■"'■ "-II ■ ■■■'■■ ■"""■ i: " '"" | '',i'ft!i"i,! ..|,i.'"'/"t Tin ."■'(■""■ ' ' ; '■; :,'>■ '"' ■"■"■""' : -n/ 7 "' 

(/4 m Old-time Puzzle-fable put into Verse.) 

By Mrs. Frank Lee. 

There once was a king in the Land o' Dreams — 

A queer old fellow, to me it seems — 

Who had a cloak of velvet and silk, 

Which was trimmed with ermine white as 

With golden lace and many a gem, 
From the collar's edge to the mantle's 

Of diamonds, too, there was ne'er a lack — 
They formed a cross on the mantle's back ; 
And the king himself, when each day was 

Did count these carefully one by one. 
One by one, in the queerest way, 
He counted those diamonds every day. 

Fifteen from the lowest to top upright; 
Fifteen to each end of the cross-piece 

From the lowest one of the upright bar, 
Each shining fair as the evening star. 
Always he counted this way. " 'T is clear 
Not a single one 's lost," said this king so 


Now the cloak had a rip, and 't was sent 

To the smart court tailor to mend, one 

The man was not honest, and in his mind 
To steal some diamonds he felt inclined. 
How to do it he racked his brain 
Over and over and over again. 
Then two he stole, and he did it well. 
How he did it, who reads may tell. 
The rip he mended, and quick did bring 
The mantle back to the waiting king, 

Who counted his diamonds o'er and o'er, 
And found them just as they were before. 

Fifteen from the lowest to top upright ; 
Fifteen to each end of the cross-piece bright 

Vol. XXXI.— 41. 

From the lowest one of the vertical bar, 
Each shining fair as the evening star. 
Yet two were gone from the diamond cross, 
But the king never knew of his mantle's loss ; 
He counted only one way, you see ; 
" My way is the best," the king, said he. 
(Note. — For the answer to this puzzle see next page.) 










\ * / 



© © 

@)@ ® ®.® © © © © ©/© 

© ^ 



















This is the plan that the tailor made, 
The thieving tradesman who knew his trade. 
He cut from each arm of the cross a star, 
And one from the top of the vertical bar; 
One he sewed to the bar beneath, 
Two he hid in a leathern sheath. 

Count, and you '11 see that the numbers ring 
Just as they did to the waiting king, 

And why, when he counted his usual way, 
He thought no diamond had gone astray. 

Fifteen from the lowest to top upright ; 
Fifteen to each end of the cross-piece bright 
From the lowest one of the vertical bar, 
Each shining fair as the evening star. 
So he never knew of his mantle's loss, 
Nor found a lack in the diamond cross. 

iv • " i'ni nifiUfiiiirrfiniTr r i iiT iii n T i n " ' ' i MM B Btttti atfttttg 

I think we learn from this queer old king 
There 's more than one way to do a thing; 
And it sometimes proves, when put to test, 
That one 's own way may not be the best. 


/"o\TRANGE as it may seem, 
\vJy it all came from the chil- 
dren's wishing. Kate wished 
that she was pale and thin 
like Aunt Elsie, with black 
eyes and auburn hair, and fine 
sets of jewelry; and Bob wished 
that he was six feet and an inch high, with a 
big mustache turned up at the ends; and little 
Sue, peeping shyly at Uncle Simon, wished that 
he would tell them a story. And so he did; 
and waiting until they had seated themselves, 
he began : 

" Once on a time — oh, let me see, have n't I 
ever told you the story about Jack Longshort, 
the boy that almost ruined himself by wishing ? " 
Of course he had n't, for he was making it up 
at that very minute. But all the children cried 
as with one voice, " Oh, no, no, you have n't, 
Uncle Simon, indeed you have n't ! What 
was it ? " 

So Uncle Simon began again, and this is 
the story that he told them : 

Once upon a time there was a little baby boy 
whose name was Jack Longshort — not such a 
little baby, either. In fact, so large a baby that 
when the nurse put on Jack's very longest baby 
dress, Jack's toes stuck out beneath it, and the 
older he grew the taller he grew. At ten he 
was six feet high ; at twelve he was seven feet 
and an inch. The boys at school called him 
"sky-scraper," and would ask him how the 
weather was up there. Every day he would 
measure himself by the end of the long pump- 
handle to see how much he had grown, and 
every day, when he found himself taller than he 
had been the day before, he would wish and 

wish and wish : " Dear, dear, if I could only 
stop growing ! Oh, if I could only be shorter — 
I don't care how little." 

" Don't you ? " answered the old pump, one 
day. Jack was very glad to find some one to 
whom he could confide his troubles, even if it was 
the pump, for Jack was an orphan, and although 
he had not given up his nurse, he felt it beneath 
his dignity to be running to her with his troubles. 


He was too glad to feel any surprise at the pump's 
speaking, and he said hotly, " No, I don't. I 
would rather be knee-high to a grasshopper than 
as tall as the obelisk. I hate being tall ! " 




" Well, well," screamed out the pump, " you 
keep on wishing and maybe you '11 get your 
wish some day." 

And — would you believe it? — at last he did. 
He actually began ungrowing, as he delightedly 
called it — very slowly at first, so that nobody 
noticed it, then so very perceptibly that no one 
could help noticing it, and everybody predicted 
that he would surely pine away and die. But 
he did n't pine away. His health was all right, 
and he grew fatter as he grew shorter. At six- 
teen he was about as tall as other boys of his 
age, and felt very happy, for it was exactly what 
he had been wishing for. But, alas ! it did n't 
stop there. That is the worst of ungrowing, 
you know : it is so apt to be carried too far. 
He kept getting shorter and shorter — four feet 
high, three feet, two, one — until he was no 
taller than the cat. And now, I can tell you, he 
changed his tune and began to wish he was tall 
again. Alack ! wishing seemed to be of no avail. 
He might as well have wished for the moon. 

But at last he came to take a more cheerful 

"jack was very glad to find some one to whom he 
could confide his troubles." 


view of things, and as his parents had left him 
a small fortune, he engaged his old nurse as 
his housekeeper, hired her husband, Ben, as his 
body-servant, dressed in the height of fashion, 
bought a trained rabbit for a saddle-horse, and 
really began to enjoy himself again. 

But still he kept on ungrowing. Soon he 
was only four inches high and had to exchange 
his rabbit for a squirrel. In a little while the 
squirrel was too large and he tried a white 
mouse. But when the white mouse proved too 
big he was in despair. " What shall I try now, 
Ben ? " he asked. 

Ben suggested a caterpillar, but Jack said 
there was no speed in that. 

" A tree-toad ? " 

" Don't like his gait." 

" Humming-bird ? " 

" Well — not so bad ; rather too big and hard 
to break. But let 's try one. A small one, 
mind, Ben, and one with a good disposition." 

So Ben caught and tamed a humming-bird, 




and for several weeks Jack used it as a steed 
until the cold weather came and it had to 
go South. Then Jack tried a cricket, but he 
" bucked," as Ben said, " worse than a mule," 
and after one or two pretty hard falls Jack 
gave up riding altogether and let Ben carry 
him around in a silver card-receiver. 

During all this time, you will remember, Jack 


had little trouble about getting along, for he had 
more money than he could spend, although he 
had to have it changed to old-fashioned little thin 
gold twenty-five-cent pieces and gold dollars. 
But one day Ben, who had charge of his busi- 
ness affairs, made some unfortunate investments 
with all Jack's money, and the poor little fellow, 
now only an inch and a sixteenth high, was 
thrown on the cold world without a penny. 
What could he do ? 

Well, he just became a tramp — a tiny tramp, 
living from hand to mouth like a vagabond 
pigmy in a world of giants. He was rather 
lonely, but he was a light-hearted little fellow, 
and as three crumbs a day were a sufficiency, he 
would not have complained if only he had not 
kept on ungrowing. He gradually decreased 
to half an inch in height, and though he was as 
lively as a cricket, he was as small as a fly, and 
dared not go upon the streets in the daytime for 
fear of being stepped on; so he wandered about 
on moonlight nights, keeping a sharp lookout 
for cracks and holes in the sidewalk and creep- 
ing under a door-step when he heard any one 

On one of these moonlight nights he came to 
a steamship dock, and immediately he caught 
the tourist fever and said, " I '11 go abroad." 

No sooner said than done. It was dusk, and 
none of the watchers or officers could discern 
the midget moving in the dim light. He climbed 
up the long gang-plank, hopped to the deck, up 
the cabin stairs, found on a bread-plate on one 
of the dining-tables some nice crumbs for his 
supper, and, stretching himself in the folds of 
a curtain, went sound asleep, like the happy- 
go-lucky little stowaway that he was. 

Well, this was the beginning of his travels. 
I could n't begin to tell you all his adventures : 
how he was a dreadfully seasick, poor little 
half-inch of humanity ; how he grew better and 
had ever so much fun on the ship; how he 
reached England, and visited all the museums 
and libraries and cathedrals and palaces, both 
there and on the Continent, without the bother 
of fees or tickets; for where was the need of 
those things to a manikin who could squeeze 
through a keyhole or crawl through the crack 
under a door. 

And still, in all his journeyings over Europe, 
Asia, and Africa, in regions which no civilized 
man had ever reached, and on islands not down 
on any map or chart, on ships, on railroads, in 

"then jack tried a cricket. 

carriages and on donkeys, on sea-gulls and on 
chips — still he kept on ungrowing. At last he 
was no bigger than a mosquito. Now he could 
creep into ant-holes and walk along the cause- 
ways made by the seams in the rocks ; he could 

326 ' 



climb among exquisite crystals and tiny grains 
of sand that seemed to him as big as boulders, 
and sit by the side of beautiful rivers and cas- 
cades made by trickling water-drops. And 
then such wonderful things he saw — things 
not to be seen by the great coarse human eye. 
Oh, nobody knows what marvels may be seen 
by a little fellow scarcely bigger than the head 
of a pin. 

At last, one winter, 
while seeking for a 
good, warm, comfor- 
table place in which 
to spend the cold 
months, and when he 
was merely a tiny 
brown speck which 
only a pair of sharp 
eyes could see at all, 
he found a delightful 
berth in the house of 
Professor von Opticon, the great naturalist. The 
professor had a fine microscope and made a 
special study of curious objects, with all of 
which Jack, of course, was familiar, as he had 
traveled among them and could see perfectly 
well with his little eyes. 

" To think," sighed Jack, " that I know al- 
most as much as he does, and yet the more I 
know the worse off I am. Oh, if I was only 
bigger ! " 

Now Professor von Opticon had a pretty 
daughter named Stella, who took care of his 
laboratory and cabinets, and assisted him in his 

One day, as Jack was lazily lounging on the 
blank slide under the microscope, Stella came in 
to put things in order for a meeting of the 
Coleoptological Society, which was to meet 
with her father that afternoon. As she was 
dusting the table, she casually stooped down 
and looked through the tube. Jack was ex- 
actly in focus. 

" Mercy on us ! " she cried. " What 's that ? 

Oh, father, father, here 's a microscopic ifian / " 

The professor was wonderfully excited. 

" What a — what a thing to show the society ! " 

he exclaimed. " It will make me famous." 

Jack enjoyed the fun immensely. He was 
too spry for them to catch him, and as they 

could n't risk killing him or losing him, they 
gave up trying to catch him and took turns 
watching at the microscope until the Coleopto- 
logical Society assembled. 

And how surprised the society was when the 
professor and his daughter exhibited their prize ! 
They congratulated themselves also on their 
good fortune, and voted to change the name of 
the society to the anthropocoleoptological or 
man-beetle society, and to make Jack an honor- 
ary member. 

And you may be sure Jack did his best to 
make the subject interesting. He lay down; 
he stood on his head; he walked; he danced; 
he turned somersaults ; he gave three cheers ; 
and at last, hopping to the inkstand and dipping 
his forefinger in the ink, he came back and 
wrote on the slide, in a good round hand and 
in letters the ten-thousandth of an inch high, his 
own name : Jack Longshort. 

The society was charmed. They studied 
and discussed poor Jack at meeting after meet- 
ing ; wrote essays and learned books about him ; 
and from that time he 
never lacked friends. 
But Stella was his 
best friend. The very 
first thing she asked 
him after the anthro- 
pocoleoptologists had 
gone was what she 
could do for him. • 

Jack only wrote 
upon the glass the 
words, " Make me 

He could not have 
asked anything much 

harder. But Stella thought and thought. Sud- 
denly an idea struck her. " I 'll try father's 
X-ray apparatus," said she. 

It was just the thing. The moment the 
X-rays struck him, Jack felt in his bones it was 
going to do him good. And it did. In a 
week he could be seen with the naked eye. 
In six he was as big as a yellow wasp. In 
three months he was the size of a canary-bird. 
And, not to make a too "long short" story, in 
two years from the time Stella found him under 
the microscope he was half a head taller than 



the professor himself. But he had had quite 
enough of growing and ungrowing. All this 
shrinking and stretching had worn on him terri- 
bly, but he was cheerful and happy. He found 
Ben, who had more than made up the losses in 
his unfortunate investments, and who had ac- 
cumulated quite a fortune, awaiting the return 
of his master. Ben was delighted at seeing 
him, and proud to make so good an account of 
his stewardship. 

Jack settled down to make the best of what 

time he had left, only regretting that he had 
wasted his life wishing himself into trouble and 
then wishing himself out again. 

And when he tells his singular story to the 
children, this is the little moral he adds to it: 

" Be contented, be thankful, and be yourself. 
Don't try to stretch yourself or shrink yourself 
or wriggle yourself into something else. And 
whether you are tall or short, thick or thin, you 
will be sure to find a place in the world that is 
of just the right size for you." 



(Begun in the November number.) 

By B. L. Farjeon. 

Chapter XI. 


ACH pair of eyes 
was turned in 
the direction 
whence the ap- 
proaching foot- 
steps came. The 
kitchen door 
was then slowly, 
(? Vy Sv ^^ / //lll\ slowly opened, and a 

llUW -,_ tall, lank, beruffled fig- 
ure in white appeared. 
It was Lucy's gov- 
erness, Miss Lucinda Pennyback, who had been 
aroused from sleep by sounds for which she 
could not account. She was by no means sure 
whether they proceeded from within the house 
or from outside the high wall which surrounded 
Marybud Lodge. 

When the sounds first fell upon her ears she 
sat bolt upright in bed and listened — and 
was still in doubt. It was most tantalizing to a 
lady of a timid and inquisitive turn of mind ; 
and at length, unable any longer to restrain her 
curiosity, she got out of bed and lighted a can- 
dle. The light gave her courage, and she de- 
termined to go down and see. So downstairs she 
crept, very slowly and cautiously, shading the 
candle with her hand. She paused a moment 
outside Mr. Scarlett's bedroom. Her employer 
was sleeping like a top or he would not have 
snored so loudly. She listened at the door of 
Lydia's bedroom, but that sweet girl's soft 
breathing would scarcely have stirred a rose- 
leaf. The sounds, therefore, which Miss Pen- 
nyback heard had not disturbed those members 
of the family. If she had not been afflicted 
with a prying disposition of the first order, and 
if she had not harbored a suspicion that cook 
was entertaining visitors on the sly, she would 
have returned to her bed; but she was deter- 

mined to get to the root of the mystery, and 
continued to proceed warily in the direction of 
the kitchen. Miss Pennyback did not like 
cook — she did not like many people, being a 
very prim, precise, and particular lady. Her 
age was — well, not under forty. She had a 
long, thin face, and a long, thin body, and she 
never went to bed without putting her hair in 

And, as has been stated, she slowly, slowly 
opened the kitchen door and saw — 

Seventeen human, motionless heads turned 
toward her. 

Seventeen pairs of eyes fixed upon her face. 

Appalling sight ! 

Lucy was the first to show any sign of life. 
She advanced to her schoolmistress, and, hold- 
ing out her hands, cried : 

" Miss Pennyback ! Dear Miss Pennyback ! " 

But her words were \ 
lost upon the lady she 
addressed. Miss Penny- 
back cast one anguished, 
terrified glance upon the 
strange figures which 
met her eyes, threw up 
her arms, uttered a 
piercing shriek, and fell 
fainting to the floor. 



All this 








Chapter XII. 


" Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " cried Lucy, wringing 
her hands. " What is to be done now ? " 

Richard III appeared to have anticipated the 
question, and showed himself ready to answer 
it before it was asked. The moment Miss Pen- 
nyback fell to the floor he dragged the Heads- 
man forward and, pointing to the unconscious 
lady, hissed fiercely in his ear : 

" She lieth in a splendid position. This is 
your opportunity. Off with her head ! " 




Then Mme. Tussaud darted forth, and, ex- 
tending her magic cane, cried in a stern voice : 
" Dare but to raise your ax and you are 

"the kitchen-stair door was slowly opened.' 

doomed ! And you also, Richard. Have you 
not committed murders enough, that you should 
thirst for more ? Back, back to your corner 
at once, you bloodthirsty king ! Back, I say ! " 
Vol. XXXI.— 42. 

In sullen silence Richard III and the Heads- 
man slowly retreated to the extreme end of the 
kitchen, as they had been commanded to do. 

" Foiled again, Richard 
Three," Tom Thumb called out. 
" You 're not to be trusted for 
one solitary minute, and I reckon 
you '11 be tarred and feathered 
before you reach the end of your 
rope. If you had been raised in 
my country, a free and enlight- 
ened republic would have bound 
up your wounds for you in a 
way that would have consider- 
ably astonished you — yes, sir! " 

" So this is your governess, my 
dear," said Mme. Tussaud to 

" Yes, ma'am. And she is so 
fond of telling tales ! " 

" We will give her something 
to worry over," said Mme. Tus- 
saud, laughing, as she touched 
Miss Pennyback with her magic 
cane. " When she wakes it will 
puzzle her to find out whether 
she has been dreaming or not. 
You must show us her bedroom, 
and we will put her to bed again. 
Richard III, kindly lend me 
your cloak for a few minutes, and 
Mme. Sainte Amaranthe, may I 
trouble you for your assistance ? 
There, wrap the mantle carefully 
around her. Now, Loushkin, 
you are tall and strong ; you 
can easily carry her up for us. 
A giant is a very useful person 
now and then ! Pick up the 
candlestick, Lucy, and show us 
the way." 

The Russian giant carefully 
lifted Miss Pennyback, and, pre- 
ceded by Mme. Tussaud, Mme. 
Sainte Amaranthe, and Lucy, 
conveyed the unconscious gov- 
erness to her sleeping-apartment and laid her 
upon the bed. Then Mme. Tussaud handed 
Richard's cloak to Loushkin, who returned to 
his comrades in the kitchen, groping his way 




along the corridor and stepping very softly. 
Meanwhile the two ladies removed Miss Penny- 
back's dressing-gown, which she had donned 
before she went down to the kitchen, put her to 
bed, and tucked her in nicely. That done, Mme. 
Tussaud looked about the room to see that no clue 
was left ; and observing the match which Miss 
Pennyback had used to light her candle, she took 
it away with her — whereby she proved herself to 
be more than ever a woman of wisdom, because 
that burnt match was really an important piece 
of evidence. Then she blew out the candle and, 
with her two companions, hastened back to the 
kitchen, where they found the company in a 
state of the highest hilarity, of which Flip of 
the Odd was the cause. 

This lad, who had not a regular feature in 
his face, whose eyes were ill matched, whose 
mouth was all on one side, and whose features 
wore a perpetual grin, possessed remarkable 
gifts, with the display of which he had been 
entertaining the celebrities. They had arranged 
themselves in tiers, as though they were in a 
theater, some sitting on chairs on the floor, 
some upon the table, and some on chairs which 
had been lifted upon the table. There was 
thus a clear space all round the room between 
the dressers and the movable furniture, and it 
was in this space that Flip of the Odd was 
performing. He turned cart-wheels so rap- 
idly and untiringly that it made one dizzy to 
look at the whirling figure; he put his arms 
under his legs and hopped about like a frog ; 
he walked on his hands, and carried plates and 
dishes on the soles of his shoes. There was no end 
to his antics, and he had made himself so popu- 
lar that Henry VIII was declaring that he would 
double the boy's wages, when Mme. Tussaud, 
Lucy, and Mme. Sainte Amaranthe returned. 

" Less noise, less noise! " said Mme. Tussaud, 
reversing Flip of the Odd so that he stood as 
nature intended him to stand. " Stop this 
clamor, or you will alarm the family. Get 
down from the table, all of you, and help me to 
clear the things away. The kitchen must be 
left as clean and tidy as we found it. Come, 
bustle, bustle, bustle, every man Jack of you ! " 

Not only did every man Jack (with the ex- 
ception of two), but every woman Jill of them 
began instantly to bustle about and wash up the 

plates and dishes, and none entered into the 
spirit of the affair with greater zest than Henry 
VIII and Queen Elizabeth. 

" Doth not this remind thee, Bess," he asked, 
" of the pranks of childhood ? Dost recall the 
night when we discovered thee in the pantry, 
licking thy little fingers, which thou hadst 
plunged into a dish of conserve ? 'T was bar- 
berry, thy favorite jam, and thy face and hands 
were black with the sweet juice. Thou hadst 
a cold afterward, and wert dosed. Ho, ho, 
ho! Mme. la Tussaud, hast thou a conserve 
of barberry for our royal daughter ? We will 
share it with her." 

" We heard a story," said Queen Elizabeth, 
pointing her finger at him, " of our royal father 
being caught at midnight in the pantry with a 
jar of piccalilli in his lap, which he had almost 

" Ho, ho, ho ! " shouted Henry, roaring with 
laughter. " Did that story get to thine ears, 
Bess ? Piccalilli was a pickle we never could 
resist. The recollection makes our mouth 
water. We were little higher than Tom of the 
Thumb at the time, and had we not been sick 
for a week afterward we were in danger of a 
whipping. Ah, those were days ! Lucy, ma 
belle, thou must set before us a jar of picca- 
lilli. By my fa}-, we are a boy again ! " 

And indeed he behaved like one, and laughed 
so heartily and made such merry jests that he 
infected the whole company with his jollity 
(always with two exceptions). Mme. Tussaud 
was quite right when she told Lucy that she 
would find him very entertaining. He tickled 
Oliver Cromwell in the ribs, and Oliver, laying 
aside his puritanical airs for a moment, gave 
bluff King Hal a poke in the side, almost dou- 
bling him up, while Charles II and Richard I 
had a fencing bout with Mrs. Peckham's wooden 
rolling-pins which evoked much applause and 
laughter. And when Richard III — who, ad- 
vancing to see the combat, was pushed by Tom 
Thumb between the combatants — received a 
smart crack on the head from each of them, the 
hilarity threatened to become uncontrollable. 
Houqua did not laugh loudly, but emitted a 
succession of grave chuckles and wagged his 
head from side to side. 

Mme. Tussaud restored order by exclaiming : 




" Come, come, you are leaving the work half 
undone. We shall have plenty of time for fun 
by and by." 

The rivalry now was who should do the great- 
est amount of useful work in the shortest time. 
If Henry VIII behaved like a boy, Queen 
Elizabeth behaved like a romping school-girl. 
She drew quarts of hot water from the boiler, 
and helped to wash the plates and dishes, which 
Oliver Cromwell, Guy Fawkes, and the royal 
princes wiped dry with the dish-cloths with 
which Tom Thumb provided them. No one 
was busier than he, and no one more willing. 
Everybody kept calling to the merry little man 
for this, that, or t' other, and he never failed to 
produce what they required, or to do what was 
asked of him. Every time Sir Rowley left the 
kitchen with his hands full, or returned with his 
hands empty, he had some such remark to make 
as: "Wot larks! Go it — go it — go it! Oh, 
be n't it jolly ! " 

And while all this was going on, Richard III, 
with folded arms, gazed moodily before him, or 
unfolded them to rub his head; and the Heads- 
man lurked in his corner, waiting for orders. 

When the work was finished the kitchen was 
once more a picture of neatness. There was 
not a plate or a jug out of its proper place ; the 
black cat and the tortoise-shell were stretched 
before the range, which still threw out a little 
heat, and the fat Persian was asleep in its bas- 
ket, this laziest of lazy creatures not having 
taken the slightest interest in the proceedings. 

Chapter XIII. 


" What has now to be seen to," said Mme. 
Tussaud to Lucy, " is how to dispose of our- 
selves for the rest of the night. My celebrities 
are getting sleepy. Where can we repose out of 
sight of your papa and the governess and ser- 
vants? Has the house any spare rooms?" 

" Oh, yes, a great many," replied Lucy. " Be- 
fore papa took the lodge it was a boarding- 
school for boys. There are rooms where the 
boys used to sleep ; but there is nothing in them. 
— not a bed or a chair; they are quite empty." 

" Hm ! My celebrities can't very well sleep 
on the floor; it would spoil their clothes, which 

cost enough money already ; besides, some of 
them are in armor. Look at Henry VIII, for 
instance ; if he got down he might be unable 
to get up again. I am proud of Henry. He is 
rather fat, it is true ; but no one would doubt 
that he was a king — " 

" Ay," murmured Queen Elizabeth, drowsily; 
she had caught the words, and was thinking of 
her favorite poet; " ' every inch a king.' " 

" He is a most magnificent figure," continued 
Mme. Tussaud, "but I doubt whether he is ap- 
preciated as much as he deserves to be. The 
collar of the Garter he is wearing is the same 
he wore when he met the French king, Francis 
I, on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. But I 
am wandering from the point. We can do 
without beds, for on no account would I allow 
my celebrities to remove their costumes ; but 
they must have something to sit upon. Marybud 
Lodge having been an educational establish- 
ment, there should be a school-room in it." 

" There are two," said Lucy, " with benches 
and desks at which the boys did their lessons." 

"The very thing," said Mme. Tussaud. " One 
will do for the gentlemen, the other for the 
ladies." She rapped on the table to arouse the 
attention of the celebrities. " You will all fol- 
low me without making the least noise ; our 
work is done for the night, and we are going 
to rest. Sir Rowley and Flip of the Odd will 
put out the gas when we are gone, and get to 
bed. I shall want to see them both early in 
the morning." 

" ' And look thou meet me ere the first cock 
crow,' " interrupted Queen Elizabeth. 

" Well, not quite so early as that," said Mme. 
Tussaud, smiling. " Be up at your usual hour, 
Rowley and Flip, and be careful that you do 
not whisper to a soul a word of what you have 
seen to-night." 

"Ye have sworn, varlets," said Henry VIII. 
" Break your oath and it will fare ill with ye." 

"You won't say a word, will you, Rowley ? " 
said Lucy. 

" I be mum as a porkeypine, missy," replied 
the old man. " They sha'n't drag a word out 
o' me, and I '11 not let Flip out o' my sight." 

" We rely on you," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" Good night." 

Sir Rowley and Flip of the Odd bowed low 




as the celebrities followed Mme. Tussaud and 
Lucy out of the kitchen ; and then Sir Rowley 
put out the gas and went to his bedroom, 
wondering what the morrow would bring forth : 
what old Mr. Scarlett would say when he saw 
all these great people ; what Miss Lydia would 
say; what Mrs. Peckham would say when she 

When Mme. Tussaud saw the two bedrooms 
she said they would do capitally, and she made 
a little speech to her celebrities, in which she ex- 
plained the arrangements for their night's repose. 
She said that when the ladies had retired, a watch 
would have to be kept by the gentlemen of the 
company, to guard against alarms and surprises. 


found the larder empty; what Mr. Grimweed 
would say when he came to the lodge; what 
the tradesmen would say — what everybody 
would say ! 

" Lardy, lardy ! " he said as he reached his 
room. " This do be a night surely. Kings and 
queens and giants and dwarfs a-coming to Bar- 
net in the dead o' night, and measter to be 
brought to reason, and me being made Sir 
Rowley by a king in armor — my old head 
spins to think of it all ! Flip, when ye 're a 
grandfeyther ye '11 have a tale to tell." 

But Flip had tumbled into bed with his 
clothes on and was fast asleep ; and Sir Row- 
ley was not long in following his example. 

" We thank thee for thy care of us,'' said 
Queen Elizabeth. " It is time indeed to retire,for 
' the iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.'" 

Mme. Tussaud continued her address to the 
general company, and asked who would volun- 
teer for the first watch. Tom Thumb, ever 
ready, instantly stepped forward, and he was 
followed by most of the others, who declared 
they were ready to die in defense of the ladies. 

" I do not doubt your courage," said Mme. 
Tussaud. " You are on parole, remember. 
Who plays false with his knightly word forfeits 
his knightly honor, and I shall deal severely 
with him. Richard III, what are you mutter- 
ing in the ear of my Headsman ? " 

>9°4 •] 



" Nothing that it behooves me to tell you, 
madame," answered the surly king. 

" If you '11 excuse me for contradicting you, 
Richard Three," said Tom Thumb, " that 's an 
everlasting whopper. Your last words to the 
gentleman in the black mask were : ' We will 
despatch them in their sleep, or when their backs 
are turned.' " 

" Foul befall thy o'er-ghb tongue ! " growled 
Richard III. "I have a mind to trounce 
thee. If I had thee alone — ha ! thou mala- 
pert knave ! Ai'e ! — our favorite corn ! " 

Tom Thumb had, " accidentally on purpose," 
as he said, stepped upon the kingly toes, and 
the wily Richard was screaming with pain. 

" Thou art rightly served," said Richard 
Cceur de Lion. " With our own ears did we 
hear thee conspire. I would have thee be not 
so rude in speech to this gallant knight." 

He made a courtly gesture to Tom Thumb, 
who bowed his best bow. 

"Knight!" sneered Richard III, hopping 
about on one leg. " A manikin such as he a 
knight ! Thou art jesting." 

" I speak not in jest," said the First Richard. 
" He is, I say, a gallant knight. Are not his 
deeds recorded in King Arthur's court ? 

' Now he with tilts and tournaments 

Was entertained so, • 

That all the best of Arthur's knights 

Did him much pleasure show. 
Such were his deeds and noble acts, 

In Arthur's court there shone, 
As like in all the world beside 

Was hardly seen or known.' 

They would hardly speak so of thee, name- 

" Great snakes ! " cried Tom Thumb, enthu- 
siastically. " Is all that about me ? Give us 
some more, Richard of the Lion Heart." 

" We knew the poem by heart," answered 
Richard Cceur de Lion, " but it hath escaped 
our memory. We hold thee in our English 
hearts, Tom of the Thumb, as a very hero of 

" I' faith ! gadzooks ! by our lady ! beshrew 
me ! and marry come up ! " cried Tom, plung- 
ing wildly into the vernacular of the middle 
ages. " Every boy who speaks the English 
language holds thee, noble Richard, as his hero 

of romance. I am a knave else." And he 
whispered to himself: " Bully for you, old man ! 
Never thought it was in you. Pity that Bar- 
num is n't alive to hear you." 

" I will dispense with your services, Richard 
III," said Mme. Tussaud. "As for you" (to 
the Headsman, who, at a touch of the magic 
cane, became stiff and motionless), " I will lock 
you up in a closet for the rest of the night. Is 
this a cupboard here, Lucy? Yes, this will do." 

At a signal from her, Loushkin lifted the sense- 
less form of the Headsman and deposited it in 
a dark closet originally used for disobedient 
pupils. She locked the door upon her prisoner, 
and, pocketing the key, desired the ladies to 
wish the gentlemen good night. This was 
done with much ceremony, and Mme. Tussaud, 
accompanied by Lucy, conducted Queen Eliza- 
beth, Mary Queen of Scots, and Mme. Sainte 
Amaranthe to their chamber, and expressed the 
hope that they would sleep well. 

" I shall not close my eyes," she said to 
Lucy, when the door was shut upon the ladies. 
" My business is to keep a guard over my 
people. What I have done to the Headsman 
will have a salutary effect upon them, and I 
have no fear that Richard will succeed in in- 
citing them to rebellion. They detest him, and 
he detests them, and detests our dear Tom 
Thumb most of all. What a plucky little mite 
he is ! And now, child, my labors for the night 
are nearly over. All that remains to be done is 
to bring Miss Pennyback to her senses." 

" Before you do that," said Lucy, " please tell 
me what /am to do." 

" Where do you sleep, my dear ? " 

" In the room next to Lydia's. I have to go 
through her room to get into mine." 

" Can you creep in without waking her ? " 

" I think I can." 

"Try. You can tell her everything in the 
morning before she comes down. It might 
frighten her to wake her up now, and I should 
not wish to disturb your papa at such an hour." 

" Please," said Lucy, tearfully, " I do want to 
say something to you about papa." 

" Well, child, say it." 

" He is not unkind to us," said Lucy ; " in- 
deed, indeed, he is not. He has always been 
very good to us. But he is so fond of Marybud 



Lodge, and he would be miserable and wretched 
if we were turned out of it. I told you, did n't 
I, that it belongs to Mr. Grimweed ? And he 
won't sell it to papa, and he won't renew the 
lease, unless Lydia promises to marry him. 
There is a tower on the top of the Lodge, you 
know, where papa studies the stars, and he says 
there is n't another house in England where he 
can do it so well. Papa is writing a book 
about the stars, — he has been writing it all 
his life, — and he says it will take years and 
years to finish, and he can't finish it any- 
where else. He has a large telescope fixed up 
there in the observatory, and he tells us such 
wonderful things about Jupiter and Mars and 
Venus and Saturn, and that other one — oh, 
yes, Uranus. I don't understand them a bit, 
but papa does love them all so much. And Mr. 
Grimweed says that papa's telescope belongs to 
him, because the stand is fixed to the floor. 
Lydia says that Mr. Grimweed hates dear 
Harry, and would like to crush him — yes, to 
crush him ! Did you ever hear anything so 
dreadful ? Oh, he is wicked, almost as wicked, 
it seems to me, as — as Richard III." 

Lucy made this long explanation with sobs 
and tears. 

" You don't want me to lay the blame on 
papa ?" said Mme. Tussaud, her kind hand pat- 
ting Lucy's shoulder. 

" No, ma'am — please, please don't." 

" But, after all, my dear little Lucy, it is papa 
and no one else who can say to the Grim- 
weed man : ' Be off with you, monster ; you 
shall not marry my daughter'; and to Harry 
Bower: ' Harry, you 're a fine fellow. Lydia is 
yours. Take her, with my blessing, and be 
married to-morrow.' Now there is no one but 
your papa who can bring this happiness to 

" Of course not, ma'am. I know that." 

" Then it is absolutely necessary that your 
papa shall be brought to reason, as well as that 
Grimweed man." 

"Yes, ma'am; but you '11 — you '11 do it 
nicely, won't you ? " 

" With your papa ? Certainly. But I will not 
promise to do it so nicely with the Grimweed man. 
Leave them both to me, child, and be quite 
easy in your mind about your papa. I will not 
hurt his little finger." 

" Thank you — oh, thank you ! You are the 
kindest lady that ever lived," said Lucy, wiping 
the tears from her eyes. 

" Do not cry, my dear," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" Go to sleep with a light heart. I declare, 
there is the dawn peeping at you, wondering 
why you are not in bed. Do you hear the 
birds ? What shocking hours for you to keep — 
for us all, to be sure ! " 

She kissed Lucy very affectionately, and 
when the child was in her bedroom, which she 
reached without disturbing Lydia, the old lady 
went to Miss Pennyback's apartment, and touch- 
ing her with the magic cane, stole noiselessly 
away to look after her celebrities. The moment 
she stepped into the passage, Tom Thumb 
called out : 

" Stand, ho ! Who goes there ? " 

He spoke in so loud a tone that through the 
fast-closed door of the ladies' sleeping-apart- 
ment the words reached the slumbering senses 
of Queen Elizabeth, who murmured drowsily : 

'" Friends to this ground, and liegemen to 
the Dane.' " 

" It is only I, Tom," said Mme. Tussaud. 
" How are you getting on ? " 

" ' I humbly thank you, well,' " replied Tom, 
who was in the Shaksperian vein. 

Mme. Tussaud nodded smilingly at him, and, 
seating herself at the end of the passage, also 
kept watch to guard against surprises. 

(To be continued.) 




By Frank R. Stockton. 

Charles and Stephen Morris had an uncle 
who was a sportsman. " Uncle Weston," as 
they called him, had hunted in all parts of the 
country — on our Atlantic bays and gulfs, in 
the woods of Maine, in the far West, and 
in Texas and Florida. It was a glad time 
for Charles and Stephen when they could get 
Uncle Weston to tell about his expeditions. 

At one time the boys were especially inter- 
ested in alligators, a friend traveling in Florida 
having sent them a little live alligator in a box. 
This creature was about eight inches long, and af- 
forded much amusement to Stephen and Charles, 
but he did not satisfy them. They wished to 
know all about the " big fellows " — the ones that 
could bite a man's leg off or devour a pig. 

One day they found Uncle AVeston sitting on 
a bench under a tree; and, clambering up on 
each side of him, they asked him to tell them 
about all the alligators he had ever seen, and 
anything he had heard or read about alligators. 

" That would take a long time," said Uncle 
Weston, smiling, " for I suppose I have seen a 

thousand alligators in my life; but I can tell 
you some things about these animals that I 
think will interest you, now that you have be- 
gun to be owners of this kind of stock. Alli- 
gators are found in many of our extreme South- 
ern States, but the most of those I have seen 
were in Florida. Along the St. Johns River, 
and in the narrow streams which flow into it, 
there are a great number of alligators. Thou- 
sands of them are killed every year, some merely 
for sport, and some for the sake of their skins ; 
but there still seem to be plenty of them left. 
Every small steamboat that sails along the up- 
per waters of the St. Johns has two or three 
passengers armed with rifles sitting in her 
bow, who fire at every alligator that shows his 
nose above the water or is seen upon the bank. 
Very often these men miss their mark entirely ; 
sometimes they wound the animals, and some- 




times, but by no means frequently, they kill 

" But, whatever their success may be, they 
seem to consider it great sport or else a kind of 
duty to bang, bang, bang at every alligator they 
see. This is a poor way of hunting alligators, 
because it is a shame wantonly to wound any 
animals, even if they are ugly and savage. And 
when one is killed, it is seldom that a steam- 
boat will stop to allow a passenger to haul his 
game aboard. Whenever I killed an alligator, 
it was always because I wanted some of his 
teeth or a part of his skin." 

" But did the steamboats wait for you ? " 
asked Charles. 

"I never shot at them from a steamboat," 
replied Uncle Weston. " When I set out to 

where we had left our boat. We tied a rope 
around his body and hung him to a pole, by 
which we carried him to the boat. We found 
it pretty hot work, and if any one of us had 
been hunting alone he would have been obliged 
to leave that alligator where it was shot. 

" The men who hunt them for their hides 
carry away merely the skins and perhaps 
some of the teeth ; and it is astonishing how 
many alligators are killed for the skins alone. 
I was talking to an old hunter one day, and he 
said he expected during that summer to get a 
thousand alligator hides. I have a suspicion 
that the old fellow was trying to tell me a tall 
story; but, judging from what I have known 
men to do in this way, I have no doubt that he 
did secure a large number of skins that season. 


hunt alligators I always went in a sail-boat or a 
rowboat. Then I could go where I pleased 
and stay as long as I liked. Usually several of 
us went out together; and, indeed, this was 
necessary, for if a big alligator is killed, and you 
are to carry him away, it would be hard work 
for one man to get him on board the boat. 

" I remember that we once shot a moderate- 
sized alligator, about half a mile away from 
Vol. XXXI.— 43-44. 

" One of the best ways to shoot alligators is 
to row in a small boat up one of the streams 
which they are known to frequent, and then to 
drop down quietly with the current, making no 
noise with the oars or anything else. In this way 
you come upon them as they lie on the bank, 
without disturbing them, and you can pick out 
just the kind of alligator you want. I have 
floated quite close to numbers of them, some 




lying half in and half out of the water, some 
asleep on the bank, others walking about, and 
some raising themselves upon their fore legs 
and yawning, as if they were tired of doing 

" It must be dreadful to see an alligator 
yawn," said Stephen. 

" It would be dreadful if you had your leg 
or arm between his jaws when he stopped yawn- 
ing," replied his uncle ; " but I had no objec- 
tion to looking at one from a distance while he 
was in a sleepy mood. 

" I once had an unsatisfactory adventure 
with some alligators while floating down a 
stream in the way I have described. It was in 
a creek that runs into Indian River on the At- 
lantic coast of Florida. This creek was known 
to be a great place for alligators, and I went up 

water all about me. They did not seem at all 
afraid of me. Every now and then a big fellow 
would raise up his head and look at me as 
if he wondered what I was doing there. Soon 
some of them swam so close to the boat that I 
actually imagined that they were considering 
whether or not it would be a good idea to 
clamber on board and see what was there. I 
did not fire at any of them, for, to tell the truth, 
I did not wish to excite the angry passions of 
the great creatures. It would have been easy 
for them to upset my little boat, and then they 
could have bitten me into as many pieces as 
they liked. Before long I thought that this was 
a very poor place for me to be in, and that I 
had seen all the alligators I cared to see that 
day. So I laid down my gun, took up my oars, 
and quietly pulled down the stream toward the 

'we tied a rope around his body and hung him to a pole. 

to the mouth of it in a sail-boat. When I got 
there, I said that I wanted to try to hunt alli- 
gators by myself; and so I took a small skiff 
and rowed up the creek. I saw alligators on 
each bank as I went up; but I kept on for 
about half a mile, and then, drawing in the 
oars and taking my rifle, I prepared to float 
down. Very soon I found myself in the midst 
of a colony of alligators. Some were on the 
bank near by, and others were swimming in the 

sail-boat. Even then I was afraid some fellow 
might seize one of the oars in his jaws and crunch 
it into little bits. But I got away safely, and I 
am afraid the men in the sail-boat laughed at me 
a little when they heard my story. Now, do 
you think it was cowardly in me to run away 
from the alligators in that manner? " 

" I don't know," said Charles, after some hesi- 
tation ; but Stephen remarked that he thought 
it looked rather like cowardice. 



" It was not cowardly," said Uncle Weston, 
very decidedly. " It is never cowardly to avoid 
danger when there is no good to be gained by 
meeting it. It is very seldom that alligators 
attack a man ; but if those creatures had be- 
come excited or enraged in any way, and my 


boat had been upset, I think it is very likely 
that some of them would have seized me. And 
so, if you care anything about hearing my hunt- 
ing stories, I think you ought to be very glad 
that I made up my mind to row away from 
those alligators and leave them unmolested." 

" Oh, of course we are glad," said both of the 
boys ; and then Charles asked if alligators were 
not savage creatures like tigers. He had always 
heard that they were just as bad as other wild 

" No," replied Uncle Weston, "they are not 
nearly so dangerous as many wild beasts ; for 
if you let alligators alone they will let you 
alone. I have been told that hunters in the 
interior of Florida will wade through a pond in 
which there are a great many alligators ; and 
that while a dog will be almost sure to be seized 
by the ugly creatures, the men are seldom dis- 
turbed. Still, I must say that I would hesitate 
a long time before I would wade through a 
pond in which there were alligators." 

" What do they live on ? " asked Stephen. 

" I think they generally eat fish and water- 
fowl," answered his uncle. "They are also 
glad to get hold of a stray pig whenever they 
can ; and I have been told they are rather fond 
of such little negro children as may wander too 
near the water's edge. Their method of catch- 
ing water-fowl is curi- 
ous. A flock of ducks 
will be swimming on 
the water, and an alli- 
gator will glide noise- 
lessly under them, and, 
seizing a duck by the 
legs, will jerk it quickly 
under the surface with- 
out making enough 
noise or splash to dis- 
turb its companions. 
Duck after duck will 
thus silently disappear, 
and, unless the roll is 
called, it is probable 
that the rest of the 
flock will hardly know 
that their companions 
have vanished. 

" It used to be very 
difficult to kill alligators," continued Uncle 
Weston. " Hunters were obliged to shoot them 
in the eye, or in some soft place in the under 
part of the body. But the improved rifles and 
ammunition of the present day make it possible 
to send a ball through an alligator's skull, or, 
indeed, through any part of his body. You 
have heard how people are continually invent- 
ing stronger kinds of war-vessels as well as larger 
and more powerful cannon. As soon as one 
nation makes cannon that will fire more tre- 
mendous balls and shells than were ever fired 
before, other nations make the iron and steel 
plates on their war-vessels thicker and stronger; 
and so the contest goes on, and it is impossible 
to say which will at any time be ahead in the 
race — the enormous cannon or the steel-plated 
vessels. But, although we may improve our 
rifles, the alligator has no means of strengthen- 
ing or thickening his hide ; and so his armor, 
which used to be his principal defense against 
his enemies, is of little use to him now when 
a man fires at him with an improved rifle." 




" It is pretty hard on the alligators," said 
Stephen; "but then, I suppose they ought to 
be killed. They are horrible creatures." 

" Yes," replied his uncle. " An alligator seems 

to be of no particular use while living, and it is 
his misfortune, poor fellow, that his hide makes 
very good leather. In course of time I suppose 
alligators will be very nearly exterminated in 
our Southern States." 

" Do you think it would pay," asked Charles, 
" for us to keep our alligator until he grows up, 
and then to sell his skin ? " 

" I do not know that it would pay you," said 
Uncle Weston, laughing, " unless alligator skins 
at that time should have become very scarce 
and valuable ; and how many fingers and toes 
you would have by the time the creature had 
grown two feet long it would be very difficult 
to say. But you need not think of speculating 
in this way. I am sorry to say that your alli- 
gator will probably not live very long. As a 
general thing, these little creatures die soon after 
they are brought North. For some reason they 
do not seem to be able to adjust themselves to 
our climate and to their new way of living." 


By Henry Johnstone. 

Up out of the hill I make my way, 

Down over the rocks I go, 
And I jump and tumble, but make no stay 

Till I come to the fields below. 

Then up I wake and hasten away, 
Growing stronger and stronger still ; 

And the miller catches me at my play 
And sets me to turn his mill. 

In and out through the grass I wind, 
Among cattle and patient sheep, 

Till somewhere a shady nook I find, 
And loiter there half asleep. 

But I slip from his yoke and away I go, 
Till at last on my back folk ride, 

And I smell the sea far away, and know 
I shall rest when I reach the tide. 


By J. C. Beard. 

I 've something very strange to tell 
About what happened once 

To Dick, who would n't learn to spell, 
But chose to be a dunce. 

One winter eve, when he to bed 
Without his tea was sent, 

He had a frightful dream, he said, 
When off to sleep he went. 

His open book, thrown down in rage, 

Upon the carpet lay — 
When all the letters on the page 

Rose up and ran away. 

They ranged his bedroom far and wide, 

And gathered in a throng; 
And every letter by its side 

A small one led along. 

There was straddling A and bouncing B, 
And curved C following after; 

Full-bodied D and slipshod E — 

You 'd have almost died with laughter ! 


There was funny F, the queer old guy, 
And G, who turns his heels up; 

H on his crutches, long slim I, 
And his cousin J, who keels up. 




Then kicking K and long-toed L, 
And M and N, the brothers, 

Round jolly O, and puffy P, 
Pell-mell among the others. 

Trailing Q and her husband U, 
He never will forsake her ; 

And graceful R and crooked S 

And broad-brimmed T the Quaker. 





Sharp V and next him W, 

Like the Siamese twins united; 

Cross X awry and outstretched Y, 
Like an orator excited. 

And zigzag Z, so old and queer, 
Neglected for his betters, 

With shaky step brings up the rear, 
The last among the letters. 

They marched past Dick so many times 
It made his poor head swim ; 

Their names they shouted clear and strong 
Each time they went by him. 

They grew more friendly by and by, 

And Dicky, for his part, 
Was on the best of terms with each, 

And knew them all by heart. 

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By Boris Glave. 


When I was a boy we had a song about 
"Aunt Jemima's Plaster," the peculiarity of 
which was that " the more you tried to get it 
off, the more- it stuck the faster." Here we 
have a picture of an experiment with an obsti- 
nate cork that flies in the face of any one who 
tries to compel it to go into the neck of a bot- 
tle. The more you try to blow it in, the more 
it leaves the bottle. You can try this with any 
large bottle and a cork small enough to fit 
very loosely in its neck. Holding the bottle so 
that it points directly at your mouth, and pla- 
cing the cork in the neck, the harder you blow 
on the cork for the purpose of driving it into 
the bottle, the more forcibly will the cork rush 

from its place in the neck. Instead of a cork, 
the experiment may be successfully tried with 
a small ball of pith, or with one of paper. 


A very interesting experiment may be per- 
formed as follows. With a wet lead-pencil 
point draw on a piece of thick paper a triangle 
— whether the sides are equal or not makes 
no difference. Lay it on the surface of a basin 

of water with the drawing up, and very carefully 
fill the space inside the dampened lines with 
water, so that there will be a triangular basin 

of water on the swimming sheet of paper. 
(The water will not extend beyond the wet 
lines of the drawing.) Now, taking a pin or a 
needle, or any thin, smooth, sharp-pointed in- 
strument, dip its point into this triangular basin, 
anywhere but at its center of area — say, very 
nearly at one of the angles. Be careful not to 
touch the paper and so prevent its free motion 
in any direction, and you will find that no mat- 
ter where the point is placed, the paper will 
move on the water until the center of area 
comes under the point. This center of area 
may be indicated before placing the paper on 
the water by drawing lines from any two an- 
gles to the centers of the opposite sides ; where 
the two lines cross will be the desired place. 

If a square be drawn instead of a triangle, 
and similarly treated, it will move until the in- 
tersection of its diagonals comes under the pin- 
point; and no matter what figure be drawn, it 
will move along the water so as to bring its 
center of area directly under the point. 





In order to show what force, not figuratively, 
but actually, a breath has, take a good, stout, 
tight paper bag, and laying it on the edge of a 
table so that its mouth projects, stand a heavy 
book on end on the bag, and across this book 
lay another, also of considerable weight. By 

sorb it promptly, so the oil seeks the path of least 
resistance. In this case this is found to be by 

blowing in the bag, keeping the mouth tight in 
the bag so that no air can escape, the up- 
right book will be tilted and raised and the 
structure overthrown. It would, of course, be 
impossible to blow the book over without the 
aid of the bag. 


Cut a fish out of stout writing-paper, and in 
the center cut a round hole, as shown at A in 
the figure ; then from this cut out a narrow 
strip reaching to the tail. 

Placing this paper fish in any long vessel full 
of water, it will, when you are ready for it to do 
so, slowly move head first along the surface of 
the water without your touching it. (Care must 
be taken to lay it gently on the water, so as not 
to wet the upper surface of the paper.) The 
fish, of course, lies flat on the water. 

The secret lies, not in blowing the fish along, 
as some promptly guess, but in placing in the 
opening A a large drop of oil. This tries to 
expand and extend over the surface of the 
water; the paper is not porous enough to ab- 

passing out of the channel which leads from 
the hole A to B ; and in issuing from this chan- 
nel it will push the fish forward. 


Lay ten tooth-picks in a row at equal dis- 
tances. Move them by "jumping," as in 
checkers, so that two shall be "jumped" each 
time, and at last five pairs remain. 

23 456 7»9 

-6 3-1 


Solution: Lay 7 on 10, 4 on 8, 6 on 2, 1 
on 3, 9 on 5. 


To make an egg dance on the bottom of a 
plate, first boil it hard; then set it on its large 
end in the center of the plate, and, holding the 
latter horizontal, give it a rotation in a horizon- 
tal plane ; the egg will keep spinning like a top. 
With practice, the egg may be made to assume 
the vertical position after being laid on its side. 
To facilitate prompt obedience on the part of 
the egg, hold it vertical, with the large end 
downward, while it is being boiled. To make 
the trick still more easy to perform, lay the 
plate on a table with the edge projecting be- 
yond that of the table, and then start the egg 



spinning by use of the thumb and fingers. The blown, by the current of air reflected from the 
projecting position of the plate will enable you bottom of the glass, past the dollar and up out 

of the glass. 


To produce this pleasing and remarkable ef- 
fect, take a square piece of cardboard (say eight 
inches on a side) and fold it down the center. 
In one of the divisions draw and cut out a four- 
pointed star with the arms vertical and horizon- 

to grasp this latter quickly with the right hand, 
and then all that you will have to do will be to 
keep the egg spinning by giving the plate its 
rotating motion. 


It would seem, I admit, a bold statement to 
say that you could put a penny (or rather a 
" cent " in America) in the bottom of a wine- 
glass, cover it up with a dollar, and then, with- 
out touching either coin, blow the cent out of 
the glass without removing the dollar from the 
latter. Yet it can be done — if you know how. 

The cent is laid in the bottom of the glass 
" sure enough," as they say down South ; then 
the dollar, which is very much larger, is laid in 
so that it lies in a horizontal plane at some 
little distance above the cent. Now to get the 
cent past the dollar and out of the glass with 
the breath alone, blow sharply downward on 
that side of the upper face of the dollar which 
lies next to you. This will cause the coin to 
tilt as though on an axis ; and the cent will be 

tal; lay the piece cut out from here on the 
other division of the cardboard, but with the 
arms diagonal, and having marked its outline 
exactly, cut out that star. Stand the card on 
end, as shown in the figure, on a table which is 
pushed close to a white wall, or on which is 
stood a white screen. Place two lighted can- 
dles on the table in such positions that the stars 
cast by the openings in the card fall together 
on the wall, making an eight-pointed star. 
Now, holding a piece of colored glass, paper, 
or gelatin, or a glass of colored liquid, between 
one of the candles and its corresponding star, 
the eight-pointed light star on the wall will 
be three-colored, the colors varying with the 
color used for the screen. Where a red screen 
is used to color the light falling on one four- 
pointed star, the eight-pointed star will be red, 
green, and white. If a yellow screen be used 
to color the light, the eight-pointed star will be 
yellow, purple, and white, etc. This is a good 
exercise in " complementary colors." 



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By Clara Marie Platt. 

When you went to bed, the rubber doll 
still stood on his head, where you threw him, 
just as if he enjoyed it ; the horse whose tail 
you clipped short stood patiently, pretending 
not to care ; the two little Japanese dolls looked 
lonesomely at each other from across a great 
pile of books, but never shed a tear — when 
you went to bed. Ah, but after you were 
asleep ! 

I was sitting in the nursery all in the dark, 
when suddenly there was a chattering of little 
voices in the play-house. 

" Open that door! " somebody called. " Now, 
all together: one — two — three!" 

The door flew open, and out rattled all the 

" It 's good to stretch a bit," said the king- 
pin. " It 's a shame that we are n't allowed 

any exercise just because those children are 
tired of us! I 've been lying in one position 
until I 'm fairly stiff." 

There was a puffing and snorting, and the 
little pony on wheels dashed by, with his eyes 
sticking straight out in front, and his tail stick- 
ing straight out behind. After him waddled 
the dancing bear, 
growling fiercely. 

" I 've been in 
such a fright all 
day," neighed the 
pony, when he was 
safe between the 
rockers of the big 
horse. "Why is n't 
that bear caged? 
He growls dread- 
fully, and he does 
not belong with 
domestic animals, 

" The worst of 
it is that I can't 
do anything but 

growl," answered the toy bear. " I '11 be glad 
when they learn to make us so that we can 
bite, too, and relieve our feelings. To be shut 
up all day with dolls and Mother Goose books 
is enough to make any healthy bear growl!" 

Behind the bear came two forlorn little 





tell whether I 'm Hop-o'-my-Thumb or Jenny 
Wren. I 've almost lost my wits." 

" I have an idea! " exclaimed the rubber 
doll, turning a somersault and landing on 
his head. 

" Sup- 
pose we 
all fix our- 
selves com- 
fortably, and 
see if those 
children won't 
take the hint." 

A moan 
came from the 
rocking-horse : 
" I never can 

fortable / 

again. My 

Japanese figures, and two forlorn little 
Japanese voices wailed together : 

" Oh, take us back to our home o'er the 
For not a toy here can speak Japanese." 

The toys tried in vain to comfort 
them in English. 

Then with a rustle and flutter, the 
pile of picture-books came sliding to 
the floor. " It was n't our fault," said 
one. " We did n't mean to keep them 
apart all day." 

" I can't even keep myself to- 
gether," said another. "The children 
have mixed my pages so that I can't 

tail, my proudly waving tail, is gone 
forever! " 

" Why, what 's this in the waste- 
basket? " exclaimed the rubber doll. 
" I do believe it is your tail. But I 
can tie it on with a string." 

He did it so skilfully that the rock- 
ing-horse rocked for joy. 

"What about the rest of us?" 
asked the little pony. " I sha'n't be 
comfortable until that bear is chained 
up ; and who is to chain him? " 

" I '11 go in myself," replied the 
bear. " But it 's very hard to give 
up frightening the pony, for it 's the 
only fun I have." With a last growl, 


that almost made the pony's glass eyes pop out side of the room. As the little pony rolled in, 

of his head, he stalked back to his corner. the bear started to growl, but on second thought 

" Now let us straighten out these books," mumbled to himself instead. The two Japa- 

directed the rubber doll. " Who is there here nese babies sat with their arms clasped so tightly 

that has ever learned to read?" that they never could be parted. "Now are 

"I can say 'mama' and 'papa,'" came 
shyly from a pretty little doll in a pink bonnet. 

"Then you are the one," answered the 
rubber doll. " I myself never had any edu- 
cation," he added, sighing. 

Soon all the books could tell their stories 
straight, and were piled neatly on the shelf. 
The ninepins marched in good order on one 

you all fixed? " asked the rubber doll. "All I 
want is to be put on my feet and out of the way 
of the tin fire-engine. That fireman would run 
over every toy in the play-house if he saw a 
burnt match on the carpet!" 

He climbed on the shelf above, the toys 
settled comfortably down in their places, and 
the state of mind in the play-house was better. 


By H. Irving Hancock. 

Part II. 

It is to be hoped that the young reader who 
studied the first of these articles has sufficiently 
mastered not only the tricks that are defensive 
but also those that conduce to strength. When 
the Japanese are taught jiu-jitsu, they are re- 
quired to devote much more time to the work 
intended to give strength than they are to the 
feats that protect. 

One of the best of these defensive tricks might 
be called the " arm-pinch," and it is executed 
as follows: If you should be suddenly attacked, 
seize your adversary in such a way that the balls 
of the fingers press tightly against the muscles in 
the back of his upper arm, and the ball of the 

thumb in the muscles in the front of his upper 
arm, midway between the elbow and the shoul- 
der. Apply the pressure rather severely, until 
the opponent surrenders. This trick can be 
performed in the utmost spirit of friendliness, 
as no harm is done beyond the momentary sen- 
sation of pain followed by numbness. In ad- 
dition to being harmless, this work is a genu- 
ine and rapid hardener of muscle. 

From this we will pass to one of the Japanese 
athletic exercises which, if faithfully followed, 
will aid in muscular development. Stand back 
to back with your companion. Let him throw 
his arms backward over his head in such a way 
that you can seize his wrists with a firm grip. 
Now bend forward, a little way at first, barely 




lifting him off his feet. By degrees, in successive 
lifts, bring him forward, but be careful that you 
do not throw your companion over your head. 
After a few times of trying this exercise you 
should be able to bring your hands forward on 
a level with the waist-line. But this extremity 
of the exercise should not be accomplished be- 
fore trial for several days. This exercise is 
well-nigh equal in value to the " struggle " de- 
scribed in the preceding article; indeed, for some 
purposes of muscular improvement it is to be 
preferred to the " struggle." It should never 
be carried to a point where palpitation of the 
heart or too rapid breathing is caused. Then 
it becomes injurious. 

An odd performance and one far more capa- 
ble of producing muscle than would at first 
seem possible is the "shoulder-push." The two 
opponents stand side by side, facing in opposite 
directions, and with the shoulders pushing 
against each other. In the case of the right 
shoulders being in contact, clasp the hands and 
hold them to the left side, with the left foot 
pushed far out. The right feet of the two oppo- 
nents should be a few inches apart, but care 
must be taken that nothing but the opposing 
shoulders touch. The bodies of both con- 
testants should be kept apart. In this exercise 
only fair resistance should be employed, it being 
understood in advance which one is gradually to 
push the other across the floor. Next the vic- 
tory should be slowly, reluctantly given to the 
other contestant. Two of these exercises with 
right shoulders opposing, and two with left 
shoulders opposing, will be found sufficient at 
first. During the weeks that follow, the number 
of exercises may be very gradually increased, 
but it would be a mistake to add more than one 
exercise for each shoulder per week. Hard 
breathing in work like this is a sure sign that 
the exercise is being carried too far. While the 
Japanese are among the strongest and most 
agile men in the world, they do not, in their 
jiu-jitsu training, attempt an excess of any ex- 
ercise. All work is undertaken with the mod- 
eration which most surely builds up health and 

Here is another valuable exercise : Stand 
facing your opponent, with feet as far apart as 
possible. Place hands on each other's shoul- 

ders. Taking firm hold, let one contestant 
attempt to sway the other as far as he can, first 
to the right side and then to the left. The one 
thus attacked should resist as far as is in his 
power. A minute of this work should be fol- 
lowed by a two minutes' rest, and then the as- 
sailant and his victim should change places. 
Four of these one-minute bouts are enough for 
beginners. The number may be increased at 
the rate of two a week. 

There is a very amusing little trick that was 
first discovered in a Japanese jiu-jitsu school. 
One of the contestants places his hand fairly on 
the top of his head, palm downward, while the 
other seizes the wnst with palm upward and 
thumb and fingers wrapped around the wrist. 
The one who seizes the wrist endeavors to push 
his opponent's hand upward from the top of the 
head. Where the two adversaries are nearly 
matched as to strength, it will be found im- 
possible to force the hand upward from the 
head ; but the exercise, besides showing a novel 
feature in athletics, does much to increase the 
muscles of the arms and wrists of each of the 

Now comes a feat that should never be tried 
except where there is something very soft upon 
which to fall. It is the trick of throwing an op- 
ponent over one's head, and is best tried on a 
hay-mow. A double thickness of mattresses 
on the floor will render the performance about 
equally safe. The contestants, in their stocking 
feet, face each other. The assailant reaches 
out with both hands, seizing his victim by the 
coat lapels. In the same instant he should 
place his right foot diagonally across the vic- 
tim's thigh, with the heel of the foot inward. 
(See page 353.) While holding his opponent in 
this position, the assailant should hop as close as 
he can to the victim, take the tightest hold on 
the lapels, and throw himself quickly over back- 
ward until he lies flat upon his back on the mat- 
tress. He will carry the victim over his head, 
and the latter will land upon his own back 
beyond. The movements of the one who is 
attacking must be executed with great rapidity 
— one, two, three, four! 

But remember ! This trick should never be 
attempted except on a mattress or a bed of hay, 
and both contestants must be in their stocking 




feet. Otherwise — if tried on an asphalt pave- 
ment, frozen ground, or on a hard floor — the 
trick may be dangerous to both contestants, 
and especially to the one making the throw. 

Rightly performed, this is a splendid exercise, 
and cannot work any injury. 

This most surprising feat of jiu-jitsu is excellent 
as well for bodily training as for defensive tactics. 
Assailant and victim change places in turn, and 
not more than three throws for each are advis- 
able until the contestants have attained a high 
degree of muscular strength and endurance. 

The Japanese use practically no gymnasium 
apparatus, yet they show greater excellence of 
strength and endurance than do any other people 
in the world. While some of their exercises 
may seem violent, they take them with great 
moderation. At the outset of a course in jiu- 
jitsu the student is rarely upon the floor more 
than half an hour, and three quarters of this 
time is devoted to walking and breathing be- 
tween exercises. As the student becomes more 

proficient, he spends three quarters of an hour 
on the floor, then an hour, and so on, by de- 
grees, until he is able to give two hours a day 
to the work. Yet three quarters of his time, or 
nearly that amount, is spent in walking 
back and forth and in breathing. 

Moderation in all athletic work is 
the surest password to physical suc- 
cess, and none know this better than 
the agile, wiry, all-enduring little men 
of Japan. 

Part III. 

If our young readers have carefully 
followed the instructions contained in 
the former article of this series, they will 
now be able to proceed with more ad- 
vanced feats of self-defense and those 
that will produce strength. It will be 
a mistake for any young reader to at- 
tempt the physical work that is de- 
scribed in this article unless he has 
thoroughly practised the course laid 
out. It cannot be too well remembered 
that in Japanese jiu-jitsu each step must 
be followed in the order suggested. No 
feat of strength should be attempted 
until the preceding one has been thor- 
oughly mastered. 

Here is a bit of work that will 
strengthen the muscles involved. The 
two opponents may be designated as 
number one and number two. Number one 
should stand in front of number two, with his 
back to the latter, taking number two's right 
arm over his shoulder and seizing number 
two's right wrist in the encircling grasp of his 
own right hand. Number two should make 
the same kind of clasp around number one's 
left wrist with his own left hand, holding the 
latter's wrist at the side. When this position 
has been taken, let number one sway slowly 
around to the left, number two making just 
enough resistance as will not altogether prevent 
the twisting of both bodies. 

After three exercises in this position, the two 
boys should change places and then again twist 
in the same fashion to the left. A breathing- 
spell should now follow. Then the original 
number one may again take position in front of 




his adversary, but with the other's left arm drawn 
over his shoulder with the hand-encircling clasp 
and with his adversary's right hand encircling 
his right wrist at the side. The twist should 
now be to the right, and should be firmly 
enough resisted by number two as almost to 
prevent the success of the twist. After this num- 
bers one and two may again change positions, 
but remember that whichever contestant is in 
front of the other should be allowed gradually 
to obtain the victory, though not without fair 
resistance on the part of number two. 

A not uncommon trick of the footpad or city 
highwayman is suddenly to seize his victim by 
the throat. Here is a Japanese way of defeating 
this attack. Let a friend seize you by the throat 
by way of experiment — without, of course, tak- 
ing so tight a hold as to choke you. Now study 
his position. You will note that his arms are 
extended in an almost horizontal position, 
and that they are nearly parallel. Both 
should keep this posture for a few mo- 
ments, until the science of the attack has 
been studied. Now, while your assailant 
is still clutching at your throat, clasp your 
own hands in front of your waist. Jerk 
them to the left, then violently up and 
over the two arms that are extended to 
your throat. Carry your clenched hands 
over your assailant's extended arms, and 
throw his arms as far over as possible to 
your right. A very little practice in this 
trick will show one how easy it is to break 
the grip of any opponent who attempts to 
take the " throat-hold." 

In applying this self-defense against the 
other man's throat-hold, always throw the 
clenched hands to your left, then upward 
and over to your right. Do not make the 
thro wfrom the right unless it is unavoidable. 
The reason for making the throw to the 
right will be apparent after a very lit- 
tle thought and study. The arm that is 
nearer the opponent's resisting arm is the 
lever, of which your shoulder is the ful- 
crum. Thus, when the throw is from the 
left side, your right arm, which is the stronger, 
throws off the clutch of the opponent, while the 
left arm supplies only added pressure. At- 
tempt throwing off from the right side, using 

Vol. XXXI.— 45. 

your left arm as the lever, and you will realize 
how much more difficult the feat is. A Japa- 
nese strives to develop the same amount of 
strength in both right and left arms, and when 
you have followed out all the suggestions 
herein given, you will find that the left arm is 
very nearly as strong as the right. Yet do not 
look for this condition at once. 

In the Orient the left arm is generally found 
in a state of development equal or nearly so to 
that of the right arm. In the United States 
the left arm is rarely found to be more than 
half as strong as the right. This physical con- 
dition is a defect, and one that should be reme- 
died. Let two opponents stand facing each 
other, each with his left side slightly advanced. 
Each should clasp left hands with the fingers 
interlaced and palms pressing. Let one of the 
young men move his hand as far over as pos- 


sible to the left and then to the right. The 
pressure should be so well applied that the 
second young man is forced to bend over 
somewhat. Then the first young man should 




apply the same pressures himself. This exercise 
will be found of great value in making the left 
arm equally strong with the right, but the work 
may be tried with right hands clasped in the 
same manner. At least three times as much 
work, however, should be performed with the 
left hands as with the right. 

It is very necessary to possess sufficient de- 
velopment of the muscles of the legs. One of 
the best exercises looking to this end is accom- 
plished as follows : Stand erect, with the feet 
spread apart and arms hanging limply at the 
sides. Bend downward to a squatting position, 
allowing the hands to touch the floor, if possible. 
The squatting position should be one in which 
the student as nearly as possible sits upon the 
heels, but head and trunk should be erect or 


nearly so. When this position has been taken, 
bring the arms up horizontally forward, clasp- 
ing the hands for a moment only. Next throw 
the arms as far backward as possible and as 

nearly horizontal as you can, performing this 
last movement slowly. Now slowly resume the 
hand-clasp, and, keeping the hands in this po- 
sition, return gradually to a standing position. 
Three of these exercises are enough for the be- 
ginner, and in Japan the veteran of jiu-jitsu 
rarely performs more than ten of them. 

There is another feat known to the Japanese 
that produces gradual but sure results in making 
the legs stronger. Two contestants, each in his 
stocking feet, seat themselves upon the floor, fa- 
cing each other. The right foot of one is placed 
squarely against the left foot of the other. Then 
pressure is applied, and the feet are slowly, 
very slowly, raised, each contestant striving his 
best, during this gradual raising of the feet, to 
push the other on his back. Each contestant 
is privileged to secure all the support that 
may come from resting his hands on the 
floor at his side. Suppose the contestant 
who employs the right foot against the 
other's left secures the victory. The loser 
should then use his right foot against the 
recent victor's left. This exercise may be 
carried on, in alternation, for at least a 
dozen times. For the best development 
of both adversaries, it is to be advised 
that neither secure the victory every time. 
Should one be stronger than the other, 
the stronger should yield, though very 
gradually and reluctantly, to the weaker. 
The only result to be obtained is the 
gradual strengthening of the muscles of 
the legs for each. 

Though a great many exercises have 
been described, it is not, of course, ex- 
pected that all can be employed at any 
one time. The student himself should 
make a judicious choice of those that are 
to be used on each day. He should 
aim, within the limits of practicability, to 
employ in each day's exercise as many as 
possible that will develop various muscles 
all over the body along the lines already 
suggested. The Japanese were the first 
among physical culturists to believe that 
perfect development can be secured most rapidly 
by changing the set of exercises day by day. 

A splendid exercise that may be employed, 
say once a week, is for one of the young ath- 




letes to approach the other from behind, throw- 
ing his arms around the other's neck and seizing 
him lightly by the throat. The one so attacked 
must necessarily throw off the grip. The best way 
of doing this lies in employing the " wrist-pinch," 
which means pressing the ball of your thumb 


across the front of your adversary's wrist, just 
back of the base of his hand. In seizing your op- 
ponent, your fingers should grasp the back of his 
wrists, and the pressure of the ball of your thumb 
against the inside of his wrist should instantly 
follow. Always use the ball or soft end of the 
fmger, being careful not to dig with the nails. 
A little practice makes the student capable of 
seizing an adversary by both wrists, and by this 
pinch breaking any clutch at one's throat. 

The secret of this pinch lies in the fact that 
two muscles will be found on the inside of the 
wrist across which the ball of the thumb can be 
moved in such a way as to produce pain that 
will be felt all the way up the arm. Once the 
location of the muscles is determined, the rest of 
this trick is easy, and it is an excellent means of 
defense, as we have shown ; but, like the " arm- 
pinch," it can be performed with the utmost 

friendliness by two boys of about equal strength, 
and, rightly done, will work no injury beyond a 
temporary pain. The point of self-defense is here 
found in the ability of the defender so to weaken 
the assailant's wrists as to render the grip at the 
throat ineffective. 

There will be little advantage in any of these 
Japanese feats for producing strength if, at the 
outset, the two boys are not fairly well matched 
as to height, weight, and strength. Once the 
student of jiu-jitsu has reached a moderate 
degree of skill, he is safe in engaging with an 
opponent of greater size who has not given the 
work the same attention. Any young Ameri- 
can who is satisfied with the idea of practising 
jiu-jitsu daily for a few months will find his en- 
durance and muscular strength at least doubled. 
But no good can come from merely reading the 
foregoing descriptions or from gazing at the 
illustrations; a pair of chums must energetically 
go through the exercises themselves. 

It cannot be too emphatically stated that 
none of these exercises should be carried to a 
point where the contestants find themselves 
obliged to breathe very fast. Any exercise that 
requires a minute or two of hard work should 
be followed by at least a minute or two of slow, 
deep, regular breathing. 

The Japanese do not drink water immediately 
before engaging in exercise. Nor do they, un- 
less it is absolutely necessary, drink any water 
while practising. But as soon as they have 
rested after the work, they drink at least a pint ' 
of cool — not cold — water. A pint of water 
is also taken on retiring and on rising, and 
throughout the day the masters of jiu-jitsu use 
water freely at all times except half an hour 
before or after a meal. At meal-times no bev- 
erage of any kind is used. 

Whenever one finds that an exercise appears 
to benefit him, he is apt to use it to excess; 
he can learn much of the Japanese, who have 
made themselves the best athletes in the world 
by using all of their exercises with the utmost 
patience and in the greatest moderation. 


By Katharine Louise Smith. 

k HE time when Jack 
Frost reigns supreme 
means, in Canada, 
a continuous revel in 
a variety of winter 
sports. The air on 
a crisp winter night 
resounds with merry 
laughter, as men and 
women, boys and girls, start out 
for an evening's frolic. On snow 
they have the tobogganing, 
sleighing, snow-shoeing, and 
skeeing, while on ice there are 
curling, skating, and ice-boating. For years 
Canada has had her ice carnival, frequently 

■A 7 

llr /i 


with a great magnificent ice palace — its iri- 
descent effects suggesting the Crystal Palace. 

Some of our Northern cities have built ice pal- 
aces, but as yet they have not become a regu- 
lar part of the winter festivities. The charm of 
the ice palace at night, when it is filled with a 
gay throng of men and women, is almost in- 
describable. On a carnival night the brightly 
costumed mass of living humanity passes in and 
out, the men and women dancing and prom- 
enading on skates as easily as though they were 
on a waxed ball-room floor. 

And where can one find a happier gathering 
than at a " snow-shoe meet," where, dressed for 
a long tramp over the crisp snow, its devotees 
congregate in sociable groups before starting 
out ? If a hurdle race is indulged in by the 
men, great excitement prevails; for to jump a 
hurdle, and not to trip or lose a shoe in the 
attempt, is a feat that calls for much daring and 
wins unbounded admiration. The laughing 
crowd of onlookers are as interested as the par- 

One of the most popular of Canadian winter 
sports is curling, which is said to have originated 
in Scotland. To the uninitiated the sight is that of 
four men sweeping the ice ; but there is method 
in the game, and the curling-stones and tees are 
arranged carefully, for a scientific player is keen 
to take advantage of every ruling. The tees 
are placed thirty-eight yards apart; the players 
stand behind a tee, and the score is marked on 
the ice seven yards in front of each tee. Of 
course the game is to keep the stone within 
certain limits, a feat not easily accomplished. 

Though curling is a very brisk and exciting 
winter sport, it is less general than tobogganing, 
which in Canada never seems to lose its prestige. 
This is partly attributed to the fine hills around 
Montreal, and the fact that the men and women 
know just how to dress for the sport. The 
exhilarating sensation of the first toboggan slide 
is something never to be forgotten. The Cana- 
dian toboggan is light and strong, and often 
has a hand-rail to enable the occupants to hold 




on. A " spill " is not to be desired, but is usu- Of course the familiar sports of sleighing, 
ally harmless, and always occasions great fun, skating, hockey, and so forth are as popular in 


A "spill" on the toboggan slide 

! a photograph by Notmari &> Son. 

especially to the successful tobogganists, who Canada as in other climes where snow and ice 
glide by with shouts of good-natured banter at can be depended upon for a number of days or 
the plight of their less fortunate brothers. weeks at a time. 


By Isabel Gordon Curtis. 

High on the banks of the Hudson, near 
Cornwall, stands Cherrycroft, the home of Amelia 
E. Barr, the novelist. Around the stately house 
cluster a few forest trees, but between them, 
arching the driveways, tapping as if for admit- 
tance at the house windows, shadowing smooth 
lawns, and scattering May-time snow about a 
beautiful garden, stand a very grove of cherry- 
trees. They are fine old cherry-trees, with a 
wealth of fruit in June-time. Of course years 
and years ago the birds discovered that the mis- 
tress of Cherrycroft spread no nets over the 
laden trees; hung no traps in the branches; set 
no scarecrows about to flap their rags at in- 
vaders. She did not look upon the birds as 
invaders ; she welcomed them as her guests. 

Wherever Mrs. Barr lives, around her gather 
a host of bird friends. She finds her way to 
their hearts through their little appetites. Grain, 
corn, and hickory-nuts by the bushel are among 
the provisions laid in every fall wholly for bird 
provender. Every morning during the winter, 
breakfast is strewn for them under a certain 
tree, and long before the household is awake, 
the sparrows, snowbirds, and chickadees are 
gathering there in eager anticipation of a hearty 
meal. They know it will be spread for them 
no matter how deep the snow that has to be 
shoveled or how icy the paths which lead to 
their breakfast-table. 

Mrs. Barr has a daughter who for years 

added to her duties the happy task of bird 
caterer. She tells a most interesting story of 
one memorable breakfast the birds at their 
country home had. 

"We lived at Cornwall in 1888," she says, 
"but in a different house, quite a distance away 
from mother's present home. One morning in 
March we woke up to find ourselves snowed 
under in the great blizzard. We could look 
across a wide snow-drifted country, and see that 
what looked like great white mushrooms had 
taken the place of shrubs and low trees. The 
fences had disappeared. We knew neighbors 
were awake, because smoke curled from chim- 
neys here and there through the valley ; but 
small houses were nearly buried, and larger 
mansions looked dwarfed — half of each of 
them was under the snow. My mother's first 
cry was, ' Lily, the birds are all dead ! I do 
not hear a note anywhere.' Our sturdy gar- 
dener rushed at the drifts with a big shovel and 
hearty good will. He loved the birds as well 
as we did. Presently through drifts ten feet 
high wandered a tiny path, straight to the tree 
where the birds' breakfast was always set. Out 
we hurried, laden with grain, corn, sunflower 
seed, and cracked hickory-nuts. ' Chick-a-dee- 
dee-dee-dee-dee-dee,' went mother's call from 
the snow-covered porch. 

" Chick-a-dee-dee I chick-a-dee-dee .' a shrill 
solitary answer came from the breakfast tree. 




The snow fluttered down about my head from 
the laden branches, and straight to the breakfast- 
table hopped two chilled, starved, grateful little 

" ' Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee ! ' went mother's 
call again over the still valley. The quiet was 
broken everywhere by the whir of wings and 
the chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, which meant, 
' We 're coming.' 

" That day and during the other days which 
followed before our little world was dug out, 
we did not worry about famine indoors, but the 
fear of famine outdoors began to appal us. 
The grain and corn were eaten up, and the whole 
household went to work cracking hickory-nuts. 
We spread the breakfast-table many times a 
day, but still our guests came. We marveled 
that the Hudson valley held so many birds. 
Friends came who, we fancied, had gone south. 
Miles and miles away, they had heard by the 
strange telegraphy of bird language the news of 
a table set in the heart of a snow- buried world. 
We gave greetings not only to our every-day 
guests, the sparrows, snowbirds, and chickadees, 
but to hoarse-voiced crows, to robins and blue- 
birds who had come north unusually early, to 
screaming blue jays, red- winged blackbirds, nut- 
hatches, goldfinches, flickers, grackles, wood- 
peckers, and whole clouds of song-sparrows. 

They stayed with us almost through the long, 
white days. Every morning our guests who 
had wandered away returned, with great wing 
flurries, at the familiar ' chick-a-dee-dee-dee.' 
As the snow melted and spring came up the 
valley our breakfast company grew smaller day 
by day. Birds are no paupers ; they did not 
come to us for food when they could find it 

" The next fall we moved to Cherrycroft. We 
were loath to leave our birds. ' We never will 
be able to gather such a flock around us,' said 
mother, ' as we had in the old home. Then, 
too, we will have to make new friendships ; the 
old bird friends will never find us here.' 

" On the first morning of winter in the new 
home we spread a breakfast-table for the birds 
about a tree near the house and we sent out the 
familiar call, 'chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee.' From 
here and there came an answering chirp. While 
I stood scattering the grain and nuts, across the 
frosted garden came a whir of wings, and right 
into my arms flew two chickadees, bright-eyed, 
soft-plumaged, quivering with friendship. They 
darted about my head, nestled among the nuts 
in my apron, all the time, with their happy little 
chick-a-dee-dee, trying to tell in bird language 
how glad they were to find me again presiding 
over the winter breakfast-table." 


Tor "¥our\q* Tolks 

Edited. hy Edward ?7£Wgeli 


the most surprised — the bear, "Uncle Fred" 

(the woodchopper), or his son Tommy. The 

"My stars! Tommy, is n't he a big one? woodchopper had been passing through the 

Oet out of this, quick! " woods with his son to a place where the woods- 

If the bear had n't been asleep, it would men were at work, and he had struck the log 

have been hard to tell which would have been with his ax, to see whether it was sound 


What we should discover if we could suddenly cleave away the earth at one side of the burrow. 




enough for timber or 
even for fire-wood. 
Finding it hollow, he 
had broken off one 
side, when, to his great 
surprise and that of 
Tommy, he had found 
a bear in the hollow 
log, in his hibernating 
sleep. But they did not 
stop to inquire what he 
was doing there. 

After running for 
about half amile, Tom- 
my gasped : " Hold 
on, papa ; I don't be- 
lieve he would have 
hurt us, anyhow. I 've 
read that they sleep in the winter; and I am 
sure he looked too comfortable and sleepy to 
harm even a mouse." 

The woodsman agreed to this, yet thought 
it best not to go back and experiment, but said 



to his son : " Perhaps you 're right ; but then, 
he may set out in search of another place in 
which to finish his long winter nap, now that I 
have knocked the side off his bedroom." 

Mother Nature is kind to her children. 


The beaver feeds on bark, twigs, and roots. Our artist has pictured his dome-shaped house, and the tunnel leading to it from below 
the surface of the water, as it would appear if one half were cut off to let us see the interior. As we would really see it in nature it 
would be merely a dome, as is shown by another beaver-hut in the distance, just in front of the row of evergreens. 

Vol. XXXI.— 46-47. 

3 62 



Some she puts to bed and to sleep in the long 
winter ; others are wide awake and as full of 
the enjoyment of life as in a bright day of 
spring or of summer. There is enjoyment in 
all seasons. It is merely a change of form. 

The rabbits seem to be even more lively in 
winter than in summer. If we could watch 
them playing all sorts of frolicsome games in 


In the coldest days he remains in his cozy nest of leaves in the 
tree-tops or in a hollow tree. In the warmest days he is out playing 
and seeking food. 

the snow, we would regard them as far from 
being in a winter sleep. But they do sleep — 
not the long sleep of hibernation, but just as 
kittens sleep ; except that the bed of the rabbits 
is down underground. To this cozy nest they 
go through a long tunnel-like entrance. In 
the nest, after hours of frolicking or seeking 
for food, they are safe and sound from the 
winter's fiercest biting wind or driving snows. 
Would n't you like to have a peep into a rab- 

bit's nest, as we did into the bear's? Our ar- 
tist has imagined such a peep as it would be 
if we could pull off all the earth on one side of 
the burrow and of the tunnel leading to it, 
without disturbing the cozy occupants in their 
nest made of leaves and grass, and lined with 
fur pulled from the mother's breast for this last 
little family. 

Then, too, the hardy beaver, in his thick 
ulster, does n't mind the cold air or freezing 
water. The front door of his house is under 
water, but his bedroom is high and dry above 
the water-line in his thick-walled lodge of mud 
and sticks. His bed is made of small twigs 
and shreds of soft willow bark. He can get a 
hearty meal of roots, bark, and little twigs 
any time he wishes to travel around for it. 

Look there ; see that squirrel just going into 
his hole up in that big tree? What a big, fat 
fellow he is ! He must find plenty of nuts 
somewhere, even if it is cold. You would find 
his nest quite a distance down from that hole, 
and there would most likely be several other 
squirrels curled up snugly in a lot of dry 
leaves. Mice cuddle up in about the same way 
in a nest made of old rags, string, and cotton. 


The severest cold has no terrors for insect 
life. It has been shown by experiments that 
insects may be artificially or naturally frozen, 
subjected, indeed, to very low temperatures, 
without killing or even injuring them. Eggs, 
larvae, and pupae, the stages in which most insects 
pass the winter, are perfectly immune to cold. 

It is a common idea that cocoons of insects 
serve as a protection against cold, but this is 
entirely erroneous. They, like the summer 
webs of web-worms, are a protection against 
birds and insect parasites, but not against cold. 
The cocoons of summer broods are as stout and 
thick as those of the generations that pass the 
winter. Moths, butterflies, and other insects 
build stouter and more compact cocoons in 
tropical and torrid countries than they do in 
those climates where they are besieged by 
winter. There are many insects, allied to the 
builders of cocoons, that make no such cov- 
ering, the pupa or the chrysalis being left 



3 6 S 

entirely exposed. And so little heat is main- 
tained by the pupae of insects that no matter 
how thick the cocoons, they are always too 
slight to repel freezing cold. 

Certain degrees of frigidity seem to have 
vastly different effects on different species of 
insects. Gnats and midges dance in the win- 
ter sunshine ; butterflies, Vanessa, Graftta, and 
sometimes Coltas, skim over the snow ; wasps 
and bees wind their way through the leafless 
woods ; ground-beetles run quickly over the 
cold earth ; crickets peep from beneath stones 
and rotting logs ; while other species, the vast 
majority, in fact, are locked in the lethargy of 
hibernation. One of the commonest evidences 
of this hibernation is to be seen when fire-wood 
is carried into the house and placed near the 
warm stove. It takes only a short time to 
bring out a swarm of ants that were sleeping 
in beetle-borings, their common retreat. 


On almost any bright day in winter, if not too cold, in places where 
the sun has melted the snow, these little beetles may be seen running 
about under the edges of the snow in search of food. These beetles 
are carnivorous, killing other insects; and in warm weather they are 
very common, often seen under dead leaves and under stones and 
logs, and are frequently attracted by light at night. 


Shown by splitting a tree. The wasps are the last to take refuge 
and the first to leave, the ants seldom coming out till spring. And 
never do the wasps encroach upon the ants, no doubt fearing the 
powerful jaws of those valiant warriors. But often the chisel bill of 
the wintering woodpecker demolishes these retreats, and the wasps 
and ants are devoured. 

A naturalist once, after experiments in freez- 
ing insects and finding that those that had not 
laid their eggs nor completed their natural term 
of life always revived, finally cut off the head 
of a fly and quickly subjected the body to a 
low temperature. To all appearances, it died, 
as any decapitated fly would have done sooner 
or later; but upon bringing it to the warmth, 
the body, much to his surprise, revived and re- 
sumed its struggles, until it finally died from 
the effects of the knife. This shows to what 
extent the cold acts on insect tissues. They 
are simply coagulated, and life does not cease, 
but is only suspended ; for when this coagula- 
tion or congestion ends, the vital energies resume 
their normal conditions. If, however, an in- 
sect has nearly completed its natural term of life, 
it will be killed by freezing; it would continue 
to live for only a short time under favorable 
conditions in any temperature. The life of 
most adult insects is at best exceedingly short. 

3 6 4 



This accounts for the fact that few insects of 
the late summer and early autumn survive the 
winter. They have rounded out their life and 
their life-work by the time the cold weather 
arrives. Yet there are exceptions to this. I 
once heard a katydid in the woods in April, 
and I have found the black-winged Carolina 
grasshopper along the roadsides in spring. It 
is not uncommon to see the giant dragon-fly, 
sEscJuia, floating about the fields in late March 
and early April ; and I have been told that 
the harvest cicada is sometimes heard in the 
spring. These are all insects (individuals) that 
have been hatched very late. They changed 
into the imago stage late in the fall, and had 


Flies going into winter quarters. The paper-nest wasps, like the paper-nest 
hornets, do not pass the winter in their own nests, but desert them for other 
shelter. Other insects, however, most commonly flies of the genera allied to 
Musca and Tachina, find these nests offer retreats safe at least from snow and 
ice, though the winter birds often examine them and make a meal on the flies. 
It is thus, the better to escape the birds, that the wasps and hornets, at a time 
when they are not in fighting condition, desert their nests during the winter. 
The wasps then, in this respect at least, are wiser than the flies. 

not completed their life history before the cold 
put them to sleep. 

Wasps winter under bark, in crevices of 
rock and wood, in cellars, outhouses, bird- 
boxes, and even in bird-nests. They feel the 
approaching cold, and seek shelter before 
nightfall. The sunshine of a warm winter's 
day tempts them forth to resume their sus- 
pended business of gathering wood-pulp or 
seeking food. It is the same with Bombus, 
the bumblebee, and with certain small green- 
bodied mining bees [Atidrenidce) that bore holes 
in the ground. 

Among the most interesting that have this 
custom are the ground-beetles, Harpalus. 
They are capering under the frozen but pro- 
tecting snow-crust when we least expect it. Spi- 
ders winter in warm spring-houses, and in sun- 

warmed hollow logs, where the fox and the 
weasel and the opossum find shelter, and where 
insectivorous birds, even winter wrens, seldom 
venture. Under the variations of temperature 
during the winter they freeze and thaw out 
again a dozen or more times between Novem- 
ber and March. Leaf-beetles also find shelter 
in hollow logs and in houses, and sometimes in 
curled leaves. Grasshoppers and crickets, to 
escape the crushing ice and snow, get into 
mice-holes and hollow logs and limbs. 

Many insects pass the winter in the egg. 
This is the case with the Locustida (the true 
locusts), most grasshoppers, assassin-bugs, and 
many butterflies. The jumping-spiders, and 
the Lycosidce or ground -spiders, and cer- 
tain of the orb-weavers, depend upon 
their well-protected egg masses to carry 
the species from one season to the next. 
Certain larvae and active pupae, as well 
as some insects, pass the winter in under- 
ground burrows, as do turtles, snakes, 
and salamanders. For the most part, 
however, it is the pupal stage in which 
the majority of insects of all species en- 
dure the cold period of the year, the 
chrysalid cocoon state. Moths, butter- 
flies, ants, bees, wasps, ichneumons, many 
beetles and flies make cocoons. Those 
that have active pupae, as the bugs, plant- 
lice, dragon-flies, water-flies, etc., pass 
the winter in the egg or in the adult 
stage, or, like the dragon-flies and their conge- 
ners, as aquatic larvae and pupae. 

Samuel Francis Aaron. 

(W. S. Blatchley, in "Gleanings from Nature," 
states that even " in any Northern State as many 
as four hundred different kinds of insects in the 
winged or adult stage may be taken in winter 
by any one who knows where to search for 
them." This entomologist has published a list 
of 286 species of Cokoptera, 64 Hcmiptcra and 
18 Orthoptera that he has taken in the winter. 
Insects survive an intensely cold winter better 
than a mild one. Warm days, especially with 
rain, encourage the growth of mold that at- 
tacks hibernating insects ; they also encourage 
the activity of birds, shrews, moles, and field- 
mice that feed upon insects.) 





blood as seen by the microscope. 

Rockford, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am going to tell you about 
blood corpuscles as I saw them through my father's 
powerful microscope. When I saw them they were 
magnified eighty-nine times larger than they really 
were. Even then they were not larger than a pin-point. 
They were orange and had a distinct black line around 
the edge, and in the middle they were shaded the least 
little bit and were hollow. This is where they carry the 
oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body. Some 
were all shriveled up when I saw them. 
I am your loving reader, 

Katharine Titch (age 13). 


L# • oof, ••" ^ 





• © © 



(Magnified 400 diameters.) 

Fig. 1 is a photograph of human red blood 
corpuscles four hundred times as large in 
diameter as the real corpuscles are. 

Fig. 2 shows a frog's red corpuscles also 
four hundred times the diameter of the real 
corpuscles. There is in the frog's corpuscles a 
core different in composition from the outside 
part ; it is blacker in the figure ; this is called 
the nucleus. There is no such nucleus in the 
red corpuscles of your blood ; but when you 
were very much smaller than you are now 
some of your corpuscles were also nucleated, 
and would have looked somewhat like the 
frog's, except that yours were round. 

There were some other corpuscles in the 
blood which escaped your attention ; when 
they are killed and stained they look like a 
in Fig. 3. They seem alive as they move on 


(Magnified 400 diameters.) 

their own account ; they do not have to hurry 
on with the blood current ; they can cling to 
the blood vessels while the red ones run by ; 
they can even leave the blood vessels and 
travel through the body ; they do not carry 
oxygen like the red ones, but they are very 
useful in other ways. When your finger is cut 
disease germs try to get in, and these white 
blood corpuscles gather at the wound and eat 
the disease germs up and so the cut heals. 
If a bone is broken, they hurry to the broken 
place and, ranging themselves between the 
broken ends, become bone in a little while and 
cement and hold the two ends together solid 
and fast. They are useful in the body some- 
what as you may be about the house : they can 
do and seem anxious to do whatever needs to 
be done. If, for instance, any other part of 
the body that can get well of a hurt is damaged, 
the white corpuscles run to its assistance ; they 
can become muscle and help the muscles as read- 
ily as they can become bone to help the bone. 


(Magnified 1000 diameters.) 

3 66 



In Fig. 3 the nucleus of the white corpuscle 
a has divided, and if it had lived, very soon 
the corpuscles would have become two ; the 
red ones do not divide in this way. This pic- 
ture is so large it would take a million^, of the 
real corpuscles to cover it over. There are 
many things about these red and white corpus- 
cles that the wisest men do not know. If you 
keep alive your interest in them you may one day 
find out some of these things and be very use- 
ful contributors to science. D. W. Dennis. 
Earlham College, Richmond, Ind. 

The illustrations were photographed directly 
through a microsco